Stepping Into the Past 4 of 12
by mccoylover
Summary: As always they are Dick's not mine except for the story idea and original characters. This one picks up shortly after Cold Feet, Warms Hearts. Brooke's past creates challenges for the couple. Includes McCoy,Green,Fontana,Cutter,Logan,Carmichael,Branch.
1. Chapter 1

_**Special thanks to L**__**ynn and Teyerin for their undying encouragement. T. thanks for being such a great sounding board as I muddled my way through this one!**_

_**This one picks up not long after** Cold Feet, Warm Hearts.** Be warned: If you don't have an interest in original characters interacting within the L and O world, this story might not be for you. Those of you that have read my stuff before...you know the characters. This one has a bit more dream sequences like I tried in** CF,WH **as well as more backstory for Brooke. Speaking of dream sequences, here comes one now...**_

"_Ah geez,"she had said to the empty room while she looked out her office window, upon spotting her assistant coming across the concourse, with a man she knew would be trouble the moment she saw him. _

_ADA Jake Cohen was engaged in an intense conversation with a lanky man clad in a grey pin stripe suit, part of a shiny silver chain dangling from the pocket of his vest. As the pair moved closer, Brooke Malinowski could see the each of the men was smiling broadly, the stranger patting the younger man on the back, as Cohen opened the glass door._

_**Damn it Jake, you were only supposed to pick the guy up from the ferry** **not become friends for life**, she thought angrily. **Talk about sleeping with the enemy…**_

_When the door opened, Malinowski had continued to type._

_  
"Madame Prosecutor, you have a visitor."_

"_Thanks Cohen," she said her eyes deliberately focused on the computer screen. "You've got arraignments in twenty minutes, why don't you head out? I'll be with our visitor momentarily."_

_Cohen nodded at his supervisor before meeting the good natured smile of the other man._

"_Help yourself to some java," Cohen said, pointing to the pot across the room, before extending his hand. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you after I get back from court."_

_The stranger nodded and thanked Cohen for his hospitality. Malinowski smiled at the faint southern drawl, its sound strangely reassuring in it's whimsical tone._

"_What's ya workin' on there, counselor," he asked as the door closed, as he perched himself of the edge of the desk._

"_A motion that needs immediate attention," she said hitting the send key as she removed the black rimmed glasses, turning towards him. "Why don't you have a seat? You'll find the chair is much more comfortable than my desk. Unless you'd like to grab that coffee before we get down to business?"_

"_I think I'll take the seat, but I'll __hold off on the coffee," he said as he eased into the vinyl office chair. "No offense ma'am, but under the circumstances, I can't help but assume declining' your hospitality would be the a most healthy choice for a vistin' Fed, like myself."_

"_Really and why is that?'_

_The stranger chuckled - the deep mellow sound of a tenor toned voice - as his green eyes sparkled with amusement._

"_My dear Miss-"he started, pausing as he moved the name plate at the center of the desk slightly back. _

"_Mal-in-ow-ski, I'm sure about now,you're ready to do whatever you have to keep this case within your jurisdiction. Maybe resortin' to filin' a motion you're all but gaurenteed of losin' or misplacin' a suspect or two in an attempt to buy yourself more time __...possibily even slippin' the old so and so of a Fed charged with the task of taken said case, a non lethel dose of somethin' unpleasant to post phone the inevitable."_

_Malinowski fought to hold her laughter in check, as she leaned back in her chair, giving the man an appraising glare._

"_Mister…?"_

"_The name is Prescott, ma'am-"_

"_Mr. Prescott, apparently t__he paronoia your office is all ready famous for has taken as hold of you personally. Also, for the record, __I'm an assistant district attorney, not to be confused with anyones 'dear'. And it's Ms. Malinowski, not Miss."_

_Prescott reached across the desk, hand extended as he bowed slightly._

"_A pleasure, Ms. Malinowski. Samuel Prescott federal prosecutor for the eastern district."_

_Malinowski put her hand in his, unable not to notice the feel of the warm, dry hand that shook hers with refreshing firmness - not the dead fish grip so many men seemed to favor when shaking the hand of a woman - yet not using a__ hand shake being used as a silent display of __dominance either. Holding her hand a moment more than needed, he __waited until __she met his gaze to smoothly let go of her._

"_You're early, Mr. Prescott. I wasn't expecting you for another half hour. I haven't finishing copying the files for you to take back with you."_

"_No rush on that. Actually, my de-,"he stopped to correct himself as he gave her an amused wink. "Ms. __Malinowski - you know that really is quite a mouth full - in'nt? __Mind if I just call you "Mal" for short?"_

_Malinowski chuckled._

"_Mr. Prescott, I don't think we will be in contact __long enough for pet names - do you?"_

"_Well, now that's not entirely__ true, Mal. As I explained to your Mr. Cohen, my superior and I were reviewin' the case file this morning . You and your office have done an outstandin' jo__b laying the ground work for the case. Seems to me, there's enough glory - as well as work - left to go around both of our offices."_

_Malinowski leaned forward, thoughtfully chewing on her lower lip._

"_What are you saying, Prescott?"_

"_I'm sayin' how would you feel about second chairin' for me on this case?"_

_Malinowski stared into the eyes that held an amused __'got ya' look that made her flush. Her cheeks glowing in part at being caught __off guard, also due to __the __realization she was staring - taken with the lightest shade of green she'd seen in a pair of eyes…such clear, direct, inviting eyes…_

"Brooke? Hey, wake up," he said with a mixture of concern and playfulness, as he gently rubbed her shoulders.

The former Brooke Malinowski lazily opened her eyes, slightly startled, as she awoke from her dream.

Jack McCoy smiled reassuringly down at his lover .

"It must have been some dream. Should I ask?"

Brooke Prescott shook her head as she kissed him lightly on the lips.

"Nothing new…just a variation on the time," she said as she glanced at the alarm clock behind McCoy as she started to get up. "This time it was first day we met."

McCoy nodded. He knew she'd been tossing and turning enough in the last month that she had renewed her prescription for sleeping pills. The pills bringing with them the onset of vivid dreams. The reoccurring theme of the dreams being her life with the late Sam Prescott.

"God Jack, this must be getting old for you," she said uncomfortably as his hand reached out, gently pulling her back into an embrace. "The last thing you want to hear, first thing every morning you're with me is-"

McCoy pressed a finger to her lips as she settled back down beside him.

"I knew what I was getting into when we first got together - it was common knowledge that you and Sam were devoted to each other. I'd be a fool to feel threatened by a man that is no longer in you life. Besides,with Valdimir Valenski's appeal being decided, it's only natural have you'd have Sam on your mind."

Prescott sighed deeply as she hugged him. She knew he was right. The moment she had heard the news - that the man who had ordered the hit on her late husband had managed to get his latest appeal heard in federal court - it had all come back to her. The threats from the head of the biggest drug cartel on the east coast, her husband's lifeless body in her arms on the steps of the courts house, the funeral the feds had talked her into having as closed casket to avoid the likihood of a reporter sneaking in and getting pictures of the fallen federal prosecutor…

"I swear you have the patience of a saint," she said softly as she looked up into his warm dark eyes. "Listen, Cohen is going to be here in an hour for brunch. I really should get-"

McCoy shook his head as grinned up at her.

"Not so fast," he said as he ran his hands slowly down her back. "Jake said ten - on a weekend coming from Williams place in the Hampton's - you know it's going to take him at least another half hour with the back up on the bridge. That gives this saint plenty of time to pursue some sinful activities…"

Both of them laughed softly as McCoy leaned over to kiss her passionately, as he smoothly rolled Prescott on to her back.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"See, I told you we should have taken the long way in," Cohen joked to his companion, as he unbuttoned the first two buttons on Prescott's green and pink plaid shirt, re-buttoning them in the correct sequence. "Maybe we could circle the block a couple more times to give you and Jack a chance to …get the buttons in the right holes."

The man beside Cohen turned several shades of red, as he chaistizingly nudged his lover.

Prescott pushed his hands aside as she opened the door for the two men to enter the house.

"Ignore him William - you of all people know - Cohen here needs to get his mind out of the gutter," she said smacking Cohen good naturedly on the arm "I'll give you a hole to put a button in…"

The pair followed Prescott into the kitchen where McCoy was emptying a frying pan full of scrambled eggs on to a platter. A three men shook hands, Prescott filled two more mugs with coffee, handing them to the pair.

"Brooke, you really should have let us bring something," William Prescott began as he looked over the fixings on the dining room table. "You shouldn't have done this all yourselves - next weekend you two have let us return the favor."

"Sounds fine by me - although your keeping Cohen here occupied- is payback enough for me. Jack?"

McCoy nodded in agreement as he set the platter on the table and the four took their places around the oval walnut table.

"Brooke and I are going to a dinner for the Trial Lawyers Association next Saturday night out that way, so brunch should work out well."

"Really," former congressman William Davenport chimed in. "Is that the dinner Arthur Branch is scheduled to speak at?"

"The very one," McCoy acknowledged as he passed the tray of assorted fruits to Cohen.

"You know Jack," Davenport continued. "If you plan to go after the nomination for DA next term, this would be a good event to begin approaching supporters…"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders, knowing Davenport was right, but still not ready to face the decision of whether or not to seek a new term as DA of New York county. A term that would mean officially entering the world of state politics, starting with courting supporters to contribute funds to his re election campaign.

"We'll see," he said as he stood. "Forgot the get the paper. Be right back."

Cohen patted Prescott's hand as McCoy went out the front door.

"Did you keep your appointment with Dr. Bishop?"

Davenport looked at the pair inquiringly, as Prescott shook her head.

"I've been having some trouble with my prescription," she explained as she reached for the butter. "Got stuck with Judge Ellis in that last motion hearing while you were down in arraignments. But I called the doctor and left a message about the dreams. Hopefully, he'll call back today."

"Listen Brooke, this isn't something to play around with," Cohen said seriously. "It took you years to get your life together after Sam died. You can't let this Valenski thing tear it all open again."

"Jake, I know that. It's not like I'm obsessing," she said firmly. "Everything is good. With work. With Jack. I'm sure once the judge makes his ruling-"

Prescott stopped abruptly, seeing the tight expression on McCoy's face as he returned, newspaper open in his hands.

"Jack what is it," Davenport asked.

Cohen and Prescott exchanged knowing glances as Prescott unconsciously dropped the butter knife.

McCoy took his seat beside Prescott. He set the newspaper on the table reaching for her, the headline : _Valenski Vindicated_, at the top of the front page.


	2. Chapter 2

_The tall lean Southerner had stood upon seeing her enter the crowded room. Prescott let out a low whistle as he leaned against the bar._

_"My God woman," he had siad with admiration. "You surely do know how to take a __man's__ breath away."_

_"You did say 'dress to impress'," she said indifferently as the barman approached. "Sunrise, tall."_

_As much as she hadn't wanted to let on, she was more than pleased with his reaction to her attire. She had struggled longer than she'd ever admit with what to wear. __Changing five times before settling on the dress she had started with: An unadorned, square cocktail dress. __The royal blue garment had an empire waist and a hem that ended just above the knee. The neckline coyly revealing a whisper of cleavage._

_"And here I'd have taken you for a boiler maker type of gal," he said __returning__ to his seat, amused._

_"Wrong again, counselor. Usually it'srequila shooters with lime but I think it would be wise for me to keep my wits about me - seeing as I'm dining with you."_

_"Now Miss Brooke, I was raised right. You have no call not to trust yourself around me."_

_Malinowski leaned on the bar to meet his gaze, ignoring the arrogance in his turn of phrase._

_"I certainly hope you don't plan on calling me that when we get to court, Mr. Prescott."_

_Prescott bowed slightly._

_"'Course not. I figure, since we are away from the office, a bit less formality might be in order. __Which reminds me, my given name is Samuel - Sam to my friends?__"_

_"Well, Samuel, to be clear, the reason I wanted to keep a clear head has to with this being a working dinner. We **are** here to discuss the case."_

_Prescott looked away, a faint smile remaining on his face._

_"Well __ma'am__, I am glad to hear that. You're far too young and pretty to be interested in a crusty old boy like me."_

_Malinowski smiled as she lowered her gaze. She knew from the data search she had done earlier that day, Samuel Emerson Prescott was a mere seven years her senior. At thirty seven, he was one of the youngest and most effective members of the federal prosecutors office, holding the third highest conviction rate in the office._

_"Now , it would be less than polite for you not to tell me what you find so amusing."_

_"You Prescott," she said cocking her head to the side as she looked up at him. "__You__ know quite well you're far from old and much too polished to be thought of as crusty."_

_Prescott smiled bashfully, his eyes sparkling back at hers._

_"Well, that was an unexpected pleasure. Was that a compliment I just heard?"_

_Malinowski played with the straw in her drink as she responded coyly, "I have been known to give them from time to time. When the occasion warrants them."_

_"Well, I am flattered to be one of the chosen few to receive the honor."_

_Malinowski looked up to see whether he was baiting her once more, the sincerity in his eyes catching her off guard. Before she could think of an appropriate response, the __maître__ de called Prescott's name. He stood, offering her his arm._

_As they walked toward the dining room, Malinowski couldn't help notice the very masculine, yet subtle scent of Ralph Lauren and pipe tobacco. __She knew between the man's natural charm, good looks, and disarming manner, the only hope of keeping her guard up would be to stay focused on the case._

_"Miss Brooke, how do you feel about a bottle of wine before dinner," he asked as he opened the wine list._

_"Might make it hard to stay focused on drug dealers and witnesses."_

_Prescott shrugged._

_"If it wouldn't offend you Mal, I would much rather spend this evenin' __talkin' about something a little more cheery than the Esparza drug cartel."_

_"Isn't that why __we're__ here, Prescott?"_

_"S'pose so," he said regretfully. "Just thought, seein' how it is Friday may be you and I could just enjoy a nice meal and maybe hit the books again Saturday? 'Sides, I think we both got our fill of threats and general nastiness from Esparza during his lawyer's lame attempt at a plea bargain this afternoon."_

_"Don't you know I live to irratate a guy like Esparza enough to have him threaten to...what was it.. to 'one day tear apart my life, brick by brick, as I have his',"she said rollong her eyes. "Was that poetic or what?"_

_Prescott chuckled as he patted her hand._

_"Well, if it makes you feel better, Esparza threatened to make me regret the day I was born."_

_"So, he likes you too," she said removing her hand from his."Prescott, I don't date colleagues."_

_"Nor do I," he said quickly, his face slightly flushed. "I just think sometimes, it's a good idea to refresh the soul. Especially after being so close to such soulless evil all week."_

_Malinowski had thought about the still photographs of the dead prostitutes she had introduced as evidence that morning__ and slowly nodded._

_"The house merlot might be worth a try, Prescott."_

_8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888_

"…Jack will have some answers when he finishes with Arthur Branch," Cohen said to his lover.

Davenport nodded. Cohen frowned as his gaze fell on Brooke, standing motionlessly at the kitchen sink as water continued to overflow from the cup in her hand.

Cohen stood and turned off the water, taking the cup and setting it on the sink.

"Listen," he said shaking Brooke slightly, her eyes blinking as if she had been awakened from a trance. "You need to start carrying the Browning again. When's the last time you've been to the firing range?"

"Eight or nine months ago. After the Weaver shooting, I started carrying the Derringer in my purse. Then I got the Miami assignment and it was just too hard to bring a gun back and forth through airport security so often, so I kept it in the in the hotel safe while I was in Manhattan. I figured Miami was -"

"Brooke, why the gun," Davenport asked from the dining room table.

"After my husband was shot by Valenski's assassins," Brooke said softly. "The witness Sam had in hiding was moved to a Marine base for added protection. After Valenski was convicted, a hit list was found - the witnesses and their families, the new prosecutor and his family, and myself were on it. Typical of the Russina Mafia."

Davenport paled as he stood to join the pair in the kitchen. He squeezed her hand tightly before giving her a hug.

"Brooke, I am so sorry. Now, this was years ago," he said hopefully. "I'm sure the others - the witnesses-"

"Dead," Cohen said bluntly. "Along with their families. The prosecutor is in witness protection. Brooke, you still have the vest?"

Brooke nodded as McCoy joined the group, Cohen looking at him expectantly.

"Arthur called the judge personally," McCoy began. "Seems without the witnesses to verify the testimony previously given, the judge had no choice but to overturn the conviction. The Feds are working on a case against Valenski for other crimes, but-"

"But until a case is built, he's a free man," she said softly. "It took Sam nearly a decade to build that case… five years and a dead prosecutor… five years and Valnski's out-"

"Listen Brooke, Arthur says he can pull some strings and get you a protective detail-,"McCoy began.

"No - not again," she said bitterly. "I can't make deals with witnesses and defendants with the men in black hovering - you know that Jack. Oh, God."

"Brooke, what is it," he asked as her face paled.

"It's not safe for you - for any of you,' she said looking at the three men. "But especially… if Valenski wants revenge he will start with the people closest to me - my brother, my niece , my lover."

"This wouldn't be the first time I was on someone's hit list and it probably won't be the last," McCoy said flatly, as he held her tightly.

"Jack, the man has had one prosecutor killed that I know of, God knows how many witnesses," she said breaking free of his embrace. "If he comes after you…if something were to happen to you-"

McCoy lifted her chin, wiping away her tears.

"Brooke, I'm not discounting the seriousness of situation. There are serious risks, but there are ways to deal with them."

Brooke looked at Cohen her eyes pleading.

"Jack, you don't understand - we _had_ a protective detail, we had court officers, we had DEA agents…until this is resolved you have to keep your distance. It's the only way."


	3. Chapter 3

_She remembered looking up at the full moon from the swing on Sam Prescott's front porch. She couldn't believe she'd agreed to return to his house for dessert, coffee, and a friendly game of cards. Dinner had flown by, Prescott amusing her with stories of his days as a child in a mining town and his adolescence - including his move from rural West Virginia, to an exclusive suburb in Atlanta. As Prescott referred to it - his rags to riches story. A story that began with the death of his parents and ended with a new life with his very gentile, very well do maternal maiden aunt, who made it her goal to give him the opportunities his mother had been denied. Those opportunities included an opportunity to pursue the profession of his choice, by seeing to it he was well prepared for the riggers of college._

_When he suggested an after dinner stroll to get a slice of key lime pie and a café latté, she'd agreed. As the pair crossed the street leading away from downtown towards the historical district, Malinowski had inquired as to whether exactly this bastion of southern delicacy was hidden._

_Prescott had smiled down at her, his face slightly flushed._

"_Um, 'guess I wasn't clear, now was I? I 'pose I should come clean before we get there and you think I'm just another slimy rascal tryin' to relieve you of your honor." _

_Malinowski had abruptly stopped walking, her eyes wide with surprise._

"_Ah Prescott," she had said with mock disappointment. "Not the old take her to my place for some 'dessert' routine? I'd of expected something more original from a guy like you."_

_Prescott stepped back, leaning slightly against the lamp post. Suit coat open, a hand on his hip, revealing his vest and the chain that held the pocket watch, that over the weeks they had worked together, Malinowski had come to see as a trademark item of the federal prosecutor. It was a causal yet classic pose that revealed the natural confidence Sam Prescott exuded … at that moment making him the handsomest man Malinowski could remember ever seeing._

"_Truth is, that aunt I told you about? She taught me how to make the best key lime pie, this side of the Mason Dixon line. I tend to work with my hands to ease the stress during a case. Bakin', wildlin'… anything to keep from having idol hands...especially during a case as challengin' as this one. I got a hankerin' for the pie and made one last night-"_

"_You made one," she repeated incredulously. "Prescott, we didn't leave the office until after 2:00 last night."_

"_I know," he replied nodding. "I was 'wired', as you're fond of sayin'. Couldn't sleep. Anyways, my really is pie that is better than that stuff they pass off as gourmet as **Scott's**. But, if you'd rather go back or call it a night. I would understand your reluctance to go to a man's house without a chaperone."_

_Malinowski had tried see through his poker face - to try to decide if he was serious or if that was his way of making an unspoken challenge. Not that it mattered. She knew she wasn't ready to end the evening just yet._

"_So, Mal you sure you don't want another slice?"_

_Malinowski looked up as Prescott returned to his place beside her on the swing, handing her a refilled cup of café au lait._

"_I'd love more, but my zipper would split. I have to admit, when you told me you had a house here in Islip, I was surprised,"she admitted."With your move from Manhattan to the eastern district here on Long Island being so recent, if thought you were either commuting or living out of a suitcase at one of the hotels by the courthouse."_

_Prescott nodded._

_"Understandable you'd think that. I was lucky. This house came up as a rent to own the weekend I first came up. A bit roomy for a single man - definately needs a woman's touch - but the basement makes a fine game room and the kitchen accomodates my late night cookin' fetish."_

_"Well, I have to hand it to you, that was the best pie I've ever eaten,"she said trying not to think about what other fetish's might occupy Prescott's thoughts._

_Prescott's eyes lit up with pleasure as he grinned._

"_Two compliments in one evening? Maybe I better have you back for my cherry cobbler tomorrow, that would win your heart for sure."_

_Malinowski smiled back at him, raising an eyebrow, as he lowered his eyes bashfully._

"_You still up for a game of chance," he asked shyly._

"_What exactly did you have in mind," she said coyly._

_This time he looked up at her, meeting her eyes as a shiver ran through her._

"_I was referrin' to that game of cards we talked about. Maybe I should bring a blanket out," he said seriously. "It is gettin' a bit breezy."_

_Malinowski shook her head, placing a hand on his knee., as he started to get up._

"_I'm fine. Sit back down and relax," she said quietly, common sense telling her she was making a move she would regret, her heart ignoring her head and her long standing rules. "Is playing games another way you refresh your soul?"_

_Prescott looked at her curiously, waiting a moment before carefully placing his arm across her shoulders._

"_Actually, one of the ways I refresh myself, is to play a game or two of pool. However, I don't make a habit out of playing games with the ladies Mal," he said feeling the warmth of her body as she moved closer."Nope. You'll find me very much a straight shooter - if you care to look further than the surface."_

_Malinowski ran a finger carefully over his vest, along the shiny silver chain, to pull the pocket watch into view._

"_It's a handsome time piece,"she commented thoughtfully. "Any story behind it?"_

_Prescott sighed as he opened the watch, exposing the elegant face with roman numerals._

"_Nothing long winded. Just belonged to my Dad. Gift from my mother when they were courtin'. It's one of the few things that survived the fire."_

"_Courting," she said thoughtfully. "That's a word you don't often here these days. That watch must mean the world to you, Sam."_

_Prescott nodded solemnly, replacing the watch, as he bent down inwardly smiling at her use of his first name. _

"_That it does, that it does. But another thing that is special to me, is the time we've spent together. I've been sweet on you young lady, from the first day I laid these tired old eyes on you and if you don't let me kiss you soon Mal, I think I'm gonna up and burst into flames."_

_Malinowski touched his cheek, as she tilted her head slightly. She was grateful they were sitting, as she felt her knees go weak when his hand rested on the side of her neck._

_Although it was far from the first time she had been kissed, the feeling of his lips on hers sent a sensation through her that was unlike anything she had felt before….a feeling of being rejuvenated. A sensation akin to being awakened from a deep sleep. __The kiss itself was gentle and sweet, very much like the man initiating it. She felt her herself melt, her arms around him, taking everything in: His smell, his warmth, the feel of his chest against her, as well as the sweet taste of coffee laced lime on his lips and mouth. She could feel her heart begin to race. She heard a moan she wasn't sure belonged to herself or Prescott._

"_Oh lord Brooke. Brooke... what a perfect name for a woman such as yourself," he whispered thoughtfully as he ran a hand through her hair. "My sweet, pure, babbling Brooke. 'Cept your babble is a steady flow of wonderment and beauty…of honesty and conviction as pure as the water from freshly melted snow."_

_Malinowski smiled, touched by his words. Words that from any other man she would have taken for blustery sentimentality meant to soften her up for a roll in the hay. But from Prescott's quiet, reverent tone, she could tell they were spoken with sincerity._

"_I like you too, Prescott," she responded tenderly as she gently kissed him again…._

_88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888_

Cohen looked up as Jack McCoy rejoined him in Brooke's living room.

"How is she?"

"She's still sleeping," McCoy replied. "I assume William started back home?"

Cohen nodded, handing McCoy the glass of scotch on the coffee table.

"Figured you might want a refill. Listen Jack, Brooke's told me how vivid these dreams of hers are. I hope you're not feeling, well-"

"Jake we have bigger things to worry about than Brooke's memories of a dead man," McCoy said impatiently. "I know she loved Sam. I know if he were still alive I probably wouldn't be sitting here - but he's not and I am. So, tell me how are we going to keep her away from the courthouse tomorrow morning?"

Cohen shook his head.

"You don't ask easy questions, do you Jack? I hate to tell you this, but you're lucky she finally agreed to let you stay here tonight - as far as keeping her from her normal routine -forget it. The most she'll do is wear the vest and the Browning."

"Well, that's just not good enough," he said as he stood up and began pacing. "What about getting her to take Arthur up on the protective detail? It least-"

"Jack, right now her focus is on you, Andy, and Lindsay. If you can get Senator Branch to extend that favor to a detail for her niece, that she'll readily accept."

McCoy nodded as he rejoined Cohen on the sofa.

"That shouldn't be a problem - I'll call Arthur before I go to bed and iron out the details," McCoy agreed pausing as he drank some of the scotch. "Listen Jake. This hit list. It _is _five years old. Sam Prescott was the main target at the time - killing Brooke would have been a way to get to him. Now that Sam is gone does it really make sense for Valenski to waste his time on the man's widow?"

Cohen sighed shaking his head.

"Jack, you know how these people operate…who knows? During the trial, Valenski made it plain to Sam that anyone dear to him would pay if he was convicted. Now? Now, I'd have said it was unlikely - if the SOB hadn't gone after a witness and his family two years ago."

McCoy nodded in agreement as he recalled Toni Ricci's fate at the hands of the Russian mafia.

"But there hasn't been a new threat? No letters, no phone calls," he asked hopefully.

"Nothing I'm aware of. Brooke wouldn't screw around with that either," Cohen said firmly. "Not with you in her life…certainly not when Lindsay and Andy's safety could be effected."

"So there is a chance, Valenski has gotten his pound of flesh and has bigger fish to fry?"

Cohen shrugged his shoulders.

"Jack there are only three ways to know for sure: Ask the man - which would undoubtedly peak his interest again, wait and see, or arrange a hit of our own and put the bastard down once and for all."

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"When I get home, I want you gone."

McCoy watched as she adjusted the strap on the holster containing her handgun, pushing it back to conceal it more effectively underneath the dark green blazer.

"As if I'm going to leave you until this thing is settled."

Brooke ran a hand over her suit, smoothing it out once more from the motorcycle ride to the brick building that housed the Islip branch of the Suffolk county courts.

"Jack, you and I both know having you here just makes you more of a target. Besides, you are needed in Manhattan. Cutter and Rubirosa are in the middle of the murder of that bus full of immigrants…as much as I love you, I can't have you put your own life on hold for me-"

McCoy shook his head as he reached for her arm.

"Listen, if we have to fight about this can we at least do it inside the courthouse," he said scanning the crowd.

"You're not going in," she said flatly as she quickly kissed his mouth. "You are getting on that bike and going to Manhattan. I have court in fifteen minutes - I don't have time to debate it. It's going to take twice as long to get through security with the damn gun. Just go and I promise I will call you tonight."

McCoy watched as she turned away, knowing it would be futile to argue. Also knowing he would have time to continue the fight that night when he returned that night. With or without an invitation.

"You know we're not done here," he called to her as he mounted the bike.

She turned around and mouthed the words "I love you". McCoy grinned back, responding in kind, waiting until she disappeared through the double doors before starting the motorcycle.

McCoy glanced at the crowd again, the dapper man with the mustache and thick grey mane slightly tipping his hat, as he moved past McCoy towards the stairs.

The tall lean figure, leaning against the tree at the parking lot exit watched the exchange, turning to watch the BMW when a few moments later, the motorcycle joined the flow of the morning traffic.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"..And exactly when did you decide to purchase this gun," Brooke asked the defendant.

"Relevance," defense counsel demanded.

"Your honor," Brooke said wearily. "I think that speak s for itself. If Mr. Giuliani bought the weapon - as the receipt states - the day after Mr. Penn attacked Mr. Giuliani's brother - it is clear what Mr. Giuliani's intended purpose was for the weapon."

Judge Harry Ellis nodded in agreement.

"Answer the question Mr. Giuliani."

The defendant hung his head.

"March 24th, 2007,"Giuliani said tightly.

"The day after your brother was attacked by Joseph Penn?"

The defendant nodded as he sighed.

"Mr. Giuliani, I need an oral response, for the record."

Giuliani looked up, his eyes blazing with hatred.

"Yes, you f c."

As the judge admonished the defendant, pounding her gavel to regain order, Brooke gave a slight nod. Triumphantly, she turned on her heel moving with deliberate leisure towards her seat.

"The-," she began, pausing as Cohen sharply kicked her shin under the table. "Nothing further."

"The witness may step down," Ellis said sternly. "Court is in recess until 9 an m Tuesday."

"What was that for," Prescott asked her assistant innocently.

"You know what," Cohen hissed. "The last time a guy called you the c word, you ended your cross with 'This f c as no more questions for the puny dick' and got fined $1500.00"

"That was four years and zillion cases ago," Prescott snickered. "I'd like to think I've evolved since then."

"I'd like to think so too," Cohen countered. "But we both know _you haven't_."

Brooke leaned across the table to respond as the court officer started towards the gate with the defendant. As they passed the prosecution table, the defendant suddenly leaned in, as he lunged at Brooke.

"Prescott you are one dead bitch - do you _hear me_ bitch?"

As Brooke reached for the Browning, Cohen pulled her back, placing himself between the defendant and Brooke. Two more court officers rushed forward to  
assist the first officer. As the defendant continued to scream threats and obscenities, as he was dragged from the court room, Prescott gazed inquiringly at PD Fletcher Bingham, who awkwardly rolled his shoulders.

"Are you all right?"

"Sticks and stones, Cohen. It's the semi autos and paid assassins that get to me," Prescott quipped as she turned towards the gate. "This 'I hate you bitch…you're dead' stuff'…small potatoes."

"Nice try, but I know better - that had to rattle you," Cohen said as he followed her out of the courtroom. "Since I know you sent Jack packing, why don't you let me buy you dinner? Maybe come over after and we can go through a couple case files?"

"Listen, Jake if I wanted a babysitter, I wouldn't have put up such a fuss with Jack. I appreciate the offer, but you know what? I'm going to just run a few errands, review some cases at home, put in my_ Casablanca_ DVD and call it a day."

Cohen feigned a pout as they moved towards the main doors.

"You know I love Claude Rains.."

"You love waking up with William more," she replied firmly. "Now get out of here before miss the moon rise."


	4. Chapter 4

_They walked down the empty street. Thier path lit by the occasional street map and the glow of the full moon. __They spoke in hushed, reverent tones, as if raising their voices would somehow break the spell that had fallen on during their time together that night._

"_What are your plans after you finish with the Blanchard girl tomorrow morning?"_

"_Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the usual errands - dry clearners, market - that sort of thing," she had begun, abruptly shaking her head, as she corrected herself._ _" No, that's not right. Tomorrow is the first Saturday of the month, isn't it? Jake and I have a standing date for dinner and a movie the first Saturday"_

_Prescott looked puzzled._

"_I thought you didn't date collegaues."_

"_ Jake and I aren't dating. We're friends."_

"_Ah…what's the expression? Friends with benefits," Prescott asked in a tone in which amusement fought a losing battle with jeolousy._

_Malinowski stood still and studied him. A faint smile came to her lips, when the look on his face confirmed what his tone had implied ._

"_Are you asking me if Jake and I are sleeping together?"_

"_Where I come from, a gentleman never asks a lady such things. At least not in such coarse language,"he hedged, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he shuffled his feet. "But if there's something you feel inclined to confirm-"_

"_First of all Prescott a kiss, no matter how breathtaking, does not mean that I answer to you-"_

_Prescott beamed._

_"Are you sayin' you find kissin' me breathtaking,"he asked with a wide grin._

_Brooke blushed as she ignored his remark._

_"Second of all, Jake is involved with someone. Seriously. I think you've met Kevin Parker from Legal Aide?"_

_Understanding filled Prescott's face as he let out a low whistle._

"_Really now," he said in a tone filled with wonder. "Is that a fact? I had no idea. Does that mean your Sunday might be clear of plans?"_

"_Why would you? It's not like the man wears a sign, Prescott," she said with amusement as they began across the street. "As for Sunday, why are you asking? I thought you, yourself, didn't date colleagues."_

_Prescott smiled as he put his arm back around her shoulders as he met her inquiring eyes, looking like a mischevious child with a secret to share._

"_I don't. We will not be datin'," he said softly."We will be courtin'." _

_888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888_

Her mind lost in her thoughts, it took Brooke a few futile pulls of the trigger for her to realize the gun was empty. Swearing to herself that she would toss what remained of her sleeping pills down the drain when she got home, she removed her head and eyes gear, as she brought the target in for a closer look. As much as she valued her sleep, the images of her life with Sam Prescott sneaking up on her in and out of sleep were just too much of a distraction. Especially now. 

Out of the twenty five rounds she had used during her time at the gun range, all but seven had hit the center of the bull eyes dead on.

Feeling reassured by her shooting, Brooke prepared to leave the range. She stopped outside the target area to talk to the Sergeant on duty at the police range, as she returned her gear and cleaned the weapon. After purchasing ammunition and reloading the gun, Brooke assured herself the safety lock was in place before heading towards her car.

As she drove out of the lot, she thought she saw a car pull out from the curb further down the block. Torn between caution and a growing concern she was quickly becoming paranoid, Prescott abruptly changed her route, checking to see if anyone followed. After fifteen minutes she sighed, feeling tired and silly. She made a U turn at one of the main streets and headed for home.

Once she pulled the car onto her driveway, Brooke turned the key and listened to the silence. She felt and mixture of relief and disappointment when she saw the motorcycle had not returned. Relief because she knew McCoy was not only safer in Manhattan, but needed there, as well. Disappointed because deep down she knew she ached to have him next to her once more.

She glanced down at the ring on the third finger of her right hand. The elegant antique band with the burst of golden topaz and aquamarine stones at its center. A ring McCoy had given her a few months before when the pair had been unsure of their direction… how quickly that ring had come to symbolize a future she had been afraid to embrace for so long. A future with a man who loved and adored her. A future with a man who had so completely filled her heart with joy…

As she got out of the car, on impulse, she walked towards the end of the street. The few cars she saw, were vechiles she recognized as belonging to her neighbors.

"Get a grip," she told herself as she turned around, just as a Mercedes SL500 made its turn around the corner.

_I know that car_, she thought, scanning her memory.

"Oh Jack," she said under her breath as she moved to meet the driver, who immediately knew he'd been made.

"Don't be too hard on the guy," Joe Fontana began. "Jack told me what's been going on and I myself suggested I do a little surveillance work."

"And what if I'd been meeting my other boyfriend," she teased, leaning against the fender. "How would you have reported that to our friend, the DA?"

The retired homicide detective gave her a warm smile.

"That my dear, that information would be irrelevant to the investigation. In other words - if he didn't ask, I wouldn't tell," he said as the both chuckled as he embraced her. "So, how are you really holding up?"

Brooke shrugged.

"I'm all right, Just did some shooting - wait - like you don't know that?"

The pair laughed again.

"Well, let's just say I have a good idea of how your day went - as well as your reaction to ugly words and the people who use them.."

Brooke nodded.

"Just another day in the life of a prosecutor. You want to come in and have dinner? I was planning to heat up some left over stew Jack made Saturday. There's plenty for two."

Fontana shook his head regretfully.

"As delicious as that sounds, I am afraid I'll have to pass. I had dinner while you were at the range - that little Greek place around the corner. Besides, to put my own mind at ease, I think I'll just keep my eyes open out here for a while-"

"Joe, this really isn't-"

"No. Sorry. Gave McCoy my word that if I got caught, I'd still stick around. Unless you plan to call the locals and have me arrested for stalking."

"Not that I wouldn't do that in a heart beat, just to get Jack to back off, but you don't deserve a night in the slammer for helping a friend. If you get cold or change your mind about the stew, just ring the bell,"she said squeezing his hand." And Joe? Thanks."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

As the stew heated in the microwave Prescott admonished McCoy while looking through the mail, her cell phone set on speaker.

"…if I didn't love you so much, I'd drive down Manhattan to tonight and kill you myself."

"If that's your idea of love, I'd hate to hear what you do to people you hate," McCoy joked.

"You know you can't afford to have Joe Fontana outside my door for the rest of my life? Besides, now that Joe's gone private, he's got bigger fish to fry than babysitting the DA's girlfriend."

"We can worry about the rest of your life tomorrow. Right now, let's just worry about tonight. Look, just so you don't mistakenly blow my brains out, you should know, I do plan to drive back out there tonight. I just need to finish with Connie and Mike-"

"Jack it's almost nine now. By the time you get here, it's going to be close to eleven - maybe midnight. Joe's right outside, you have got to be exhausted. I don't want to worry about you falling asleep on the bike on your way our here. Just stay in the city tonight," she said as the oven timer sounded.

McCoy sighed as he considered her words. As much as he wanted to be with her, he knew she was right.

"How about I stay here tonight, but you promise to let Joe do his job? At least until I can get back out there. That way I won't lay awake worrying about you…at least not as much?"

Prescott slipped the bowl of stew out of the oven and over to the dining room table as she reluctantly agreed. After several more minutes of updates and good byes, she set the phone down and began eating the stew.

As she ate, she glanced through the files she had brought home, occasionally writing a comment or correction. Once she finished her task she slipped off her shoes and removed her blazer, tossing the blazer on the back of a dining room chair, as she went into the living room to hunt for the DVD. After rummaging through the bookcase where she kept part of her collection of CD's and DVD's in she remembered Cohen viewing the _Casablanca_ DVD in the game room a few months before, during his convalescent stay. He and William Davenport had spent an afternoon watching classics on the TV in the basement.

As she approached the basement she stopped when she noticed the light shining from under the basement door. Her heart skipped a beat. She thought about calling the police or Fontana. Unsure whether she herself might have inadvertently left the light on, she took the Browning from its holster and removed the safety, slowly opening the door.


	5. Chapter 5

He was leaning over the pool table about to make a shot. His back to her as Brooke stopped dead in her tracks. She gripped the staircase rail as she stared down at the figure clad in black trousers and vest, sleeves on the white dress shirt rolled to his elbows. The series of 'clicks' as the balls on the table made contact caused to Brooke jump, in turn causing the wooden staircase to creak.

He whirled around, dropping the que stick at the sight of her. The gun slid out of her grasp as they both stared at each other, their senses numbed by shock. He watched as the weapon landed a few steps from his wife's feet. Brooke could feet her body sway and somehow managed to low herself on to a step. Deliberately he moved to join her, picking up the gun as he sat down beside her.

"Ah Mal, you ought to know what can happen when you drop a loaded pistol," he said setting the gun behind them and placing an arm around the now trembling Brooke Prescott. "Remember the Grossman case? The wife accidentally shot-"

"Sam,"she whispered, her eyes wide as she reached out to touch his face "How? It's the pills….you can't be...I must be dreaming..."

Sam Prescott wiped the tears from her cheeks, his own eyes moist.

"Darlin' does this feel like a dream," he replied as his lips met hers.

Brooke found herself lightheaded by the smell of a man she thought had been dead for years. The taste of the him caused her body to respond as his lips gently brushed hers. He pressed her to him, as her arms went around him. She looked up into the pale green eyes she never thought she'd see again. Eyes that held a look of pure bliss as he took her hand. He guided her down the stairs to the bar, easing her onto a stool as he reached around for a shot glass and the first bottle he could find.

"Mal, you're white as a sheet. Come on now take a sip, 'for you pass out and scare the both of us," he said steadfastly.

Brooke opened her mouth as he raised the glass, the taste of the whiskey jarring her.

"This can't be happening," she said as she moved from the stool dumbfounded.

"Honey, there's so much I have to tell you," he said as he followed her to the pool table.

Brooke stared down at the balls that were in disarray on the table. Her emotions and reason in much the same state. Her mind screamed that it wasn't possible…she had held him in her arms…she had the blood stained blouse to prove…

"Dear Lord, how is it possible,"he said softly.

Brooke looked away from the table and up at Prescott.

"What…what are you talking about?"

Prescott put his arms around her once more and continued to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"How is it possible for you to look even more beautiful than you did five years ago," he asked as he kissed her once more.

Brooke accommodated him as his tongue moved to part her lips. She put her arms around his neck, a feeling of incomprehensible euphoria as she returned the kiss. It was as if time had stopped and somehow she was living a dream… a fantastic fantasy…

"My beautiful, babblin' Brooke," he whispered as he smelled her hair and the perfume on behind her ear. Breathing her in as his lips showered her face with kisses, eventually working his way down her neck. His fingers carefully unbuttoning the pale yellow blouse, then unsnapping the bulky bullet proof vest. "Never stopped lovin' you Mal…never stopped missin' the sweet feel of you…"

Brooke closed her eyes as he lowered her onto the table, a wave of his hand sending the remaining balls into various pockets on the table. A flood of memories filling her mind. She could feel his hands on her breasts. The blouse and undergarments discarded on the floor…his mouth replacing his hands, as his hands worked their way from her breasts to the hem of the fitted skirt…

"Oh Sam….Sam it is…you are alive…"she moaned as he lay beside her.

She reached for him and ran her hands through the light brown locks that were a little thinner, a little greyer…as she kissed him eagerly. Eventually, her hands moved to the front of his shirt and she began unbuttoning … her eyes lowered to check her progress….falling on the ring Jack McCoy had given her.


	6. Chapter 6

Without warning she pushed him away, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushed. Brooke slapped him with every bit of strength she had in her, leaving him stunned and rubbing the hand print on his cheek as she leaped off the table.

"You're _alive_," she spat the words at her husband as she snatched the blouse off of the cobalt blue flooring and covered herself. "That means…that means you…you left me. You left me and let me think you were _dead_?"

Prescott stood as he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to blot the small trial of blood on his cheek, coming from the cut left by her ring. Brooke felt a twinge of regret as she saw the blood, but not enough regret to over ride her feelings of confusion and outrage.

"I had no choice, Mal-"

"Aren't you the one that used to say 'there's _always_ a choice'," she countered. "Or have you been secretly living in the basement the last five years?"

Prescott looked down at the floor, as he gathered his thoughts.

"I came back when I heard Valenski's appeal was going to be granted. I still have friends in the system that were able to get the information to me,"he said quietly. "I've been in witness protection. Been back and forth between the coasts most of that time. I finally settled in Tulsa the last couple of years."

Brooke silently repeated the words, as she paced. Her lips moving soundlessly as she briskly shook her head.

"I see," she said at last. "Let me guess. You left to protect me?"

Prescott looked up at her, his eyes suddenly stark and serious.

"I told you once, I could live with the cost of losing you, if I knew you were safe. I meant that then, I mean it now, Mal."

Brooke's eyes were bright with defiantly as she stared into his eyes.

"Of course you do - how very arrogantly paternal of you Samuel," she said with acidity that could have eaten through the strongest steel. "Well, good news - I'm safe. Mission accomplished."

She turned swiftly away, as he tried to reach for her. Brooke started up the stairs and turned.

"Guess, you can go back to your new life, now that you know I'm a-okay. Oh wait," she said as her voice dripped with sarcasm. " - just let me get my gun and bullet proof vest before you run out on me again!"

Prescott bit back his own caustic response, as he followed her up the stairs, passed the dining room and up the stairs.

"Get out," she said as she turned on the bedroom light and heading towards the closet.

"Darlin' I know you're upset - you have every right to be. But, things have changed. That's why I'm here. Damn it Mal, listen to me," he said as he turned her away from the closet to face him.

Her hand flew up once more. Prescott held her with one hand, while the other blocked the blow. He grabbed a hold of her wrist.

"If you insist on hittin' me again, I'll oblige you, after you take his damnable ring off your finger."

Brooke's jaw hung open, her eyes wide, as a kaleidoscope of emotions ran through her mind.

"What did you say," she stammered as she shook her wrist free from his grasp.

Prescott sighed as he moved away from her and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Aw, Mal. I'm not a fool,"he said shaking his head."Honey, this isn't how I wanted to tell you at all. When I came here tonight -"

"How did you get passed the security devices, anyway," she interjected. "I changed the codes years ago."

"I know that," he said quietly. "However, changing the codes from the date we met, to the date I died - you thought I died -"

Brooke's face reddened, as she turned her attention back to rifling through boxes at the back of the closet shelf.

"Nothin' gets past the great Samuel Emerson Prescott, does it? "

"Not anything I think's worth knowing," he said as his eyes spotted the silver pocket watch on the vanity table.

He started to get up to move towards his watch and smiled with pleaser, knowing Brooke had kept one of his prized possessions close at hand. The gleamer of the art deco frame caught the corner of his eye, causing him to pause. Prescott turned to the bedside table and picked up the framed photograph of his wife and Jack McCoy.

"How nice for you. Maybe you can use that skill in your new career of breaking and entering," Brooke continued, her back to Prescott, as she pulled down the box she was looking for. She staggered under the weight of the bulky box and dropped it to the floor. "This has what's left of your clothes in it. The rest of your stuff-"

Brooke stopped talking when she saw what Prescott was staring down at.

"Picture by the bed? First thing you see in the morning, last thing you see at night," Prescott whispered more to himself than her. "I knew about McCoy before…I'd read about the Weaver shooting…saw photos in the _The Times_ of you two... social events… the bar association dinners-"

"Sam," she said with heartbreaking sadness. "you let me think you were dead."

Prescott looked up, setting the picture down as he started to speak. His words were suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door being kicked in by Joe Fontana. Members of the Suffolk county sheriff's office behind him, guns drawn.

In an instant, Prescott had his own gun out of his pants pocket and pointed at Fontana, his other arm pulling Brooke protectively behind him.

"Joe - it's all right," Brooke began. "Sam - put the gun down."

Fontana stared at the couple, the Sheriff placing a hand on his shoulder as he commanded the officers to lower their weapons.

"Sam Prescott," the sheriff said in amazement as the other man set the gun on the night table and moved forward to shake his hand.

"Bobby Waters, they haven't bumped you up and out of this jerk water town yet," Prescott asked good naturedly turned his attention to the forlorn Fontana.

"When I saw the shadows from the bedroom window," Fontana explained. "I could see Brooke wasn't up here alone, so I called the local PD for back up."

"Sorry about the confusion, sir. But I'm glad to know Mal here is being looked after so well," Prescott said as he extended his hand. "Especially with vermin like Vladimir Valenski back out on the streets."

Fontana shook his hand, his eyes looking quizzically passed Prescott to a bewildered Brooke.

"Mr. Prescott? Joe Fontana of Jeffries/Fontana Investigations."

"Joe? I'm Sam and again I am might grateful you have such a sharp eye. Sorry to alarm you unnecessarily."

"Not a problem, Sam. I'm just glad the lady is safe," Fontana said as he moved to Brooke, taking note of the couple's disheveled appearance. Prescott's shirt hanging loosely passed his open vest, the surface cuts around the red handprint on his face. Brooke's tear stained face, the blouse that barely covered her cleavage.

As Sheriff Waters conferred with Prescott, Fontana moved Brooke passed the small battalion of law enforcement officers and down the stairs to the kitchen. Once away from the crowd, he handed her a glass of water and watched as her unsteady hands set it on the counter.

"Obviously you're as surprised as the rest of us," Fontana was sympathetically.

"Yeah - surprised," she sputtered. "Maybe stunned is a better word.."

"Listen, Brooke. I don't want to pry," he began delicately. "But is everything really all right? Just because this man is your husband doesn't mean he can-"

Brooke followed Fontana's discreet gaze. Embarrassed, she hurriedly buttoned her blouse, as she shook her head.

"It's not how it looks Joe - honest. I over reacted when I found Sam here… I…he…Joe, how could_ do_ this," she said as the tears began again.

Fontana nodded, as he put his arms around her. One hand on her back, the other reaching for the cell phone in his back pocket.


	7. Chapter 7

"I want to see my wife."

"Did it occur to you, if she was ready to see you, she wouldn't have spent the night with me?"

Prescott leaned on the door jam, a slow grin forming on his face.

"Some things never change do they? Loyal to her 'til the end and just as it should be," he said resignedly. "No wonder when she bolted last night she made a bee line to your place. Mind if I come?"

Jake Cohen stepped back so Prescott could enter the oceanfront condo. Cohen finished knotting his tie and ushered Prescott into the marble countered kitchenette. Prescott took a seat at the bar as Cohen set a mug of coffee and small picture of crème in front of him.

"You remembered? I'm touched Jake."

"Brooke reminded me before she left this morning," Cohen replied bluntly. "She figured you'd show up, so she took off before sunrise."

Prescott sighed as he started to stand.

"I 'pose I know where my next stop is going to have to be. Long Island railroad still run the 7:28 to Manhattan?"

"Sam, just sit down a minute. Before you go after her, just stop and ask yourself if giving Brooke some time to absorb all this is really so much to ask-"

"Time? Jake, you and I used to be friends. Good friends. I've been away almost six years. Valenski is walkin' around free out there and you want me to sit and have coffee with you?"

Cohen frowned as he thought about the frantic call he'd received the night before. A call full of anger, confusion, and most of all relief. Relief that Sam Prescott was indeed alive and well. By the time Joe Fontana had dropped Brooke at Cohen's door step it had been nearly one a m.

Fontana had given Cohen the fast version of the night's events, including Prescott's reemergence, Brooke's need to clear her head, as well as her desire not to bring Jack McCoy up to speed until morning. Although Fontana had been determined to call McCoy himself, Brooke had persuaded him to let her tell McCoy in the morning, face to face in Manhattan.

"Brooke, you really need to let me call Jack and have him come out here-"Cohen had begun after Fontana had left.

"Jake please… I can't…I don't even know how to tell…please don't make me do this now," she begged as she started to cry. "I dreamed of this night for years…I'd fantasized about it so many times, when it happened, I thought it was just another dream…now I know it's real…Sam's alive. I don't even know what the next step is."

Cohen 's heart had broken as he felt his best friend crumple in his arms.

"Of course I won't make you do anything, sweetheart. No one will, not while I'm here…"

Cohen turned his attention back to Prescott who was moving towards the front door.

"Damn it Sam, she's in love with Jack. You can't just waltz back into her life, throw a few 'now Mal's' at her and expect everything to be the way it was."

Prescott stopped with his back to Cohen, standing silently for several seconds, before facing him.

"Number one. Things can never be the same with that animal back out on the streets. That's why I'm back. Mal won't be safe until she's in witness protection. This time there isn't a choice for me to make.It's the only way she'll be safe. Second of all, how the hell did you let _that_ happen," Prescott demanded. "You were 'posed to be lookin' out for my gal - you and Clint. Where the hell where you two when McCoy started romancing my wife?."

Cohen head spun as he did a double take, unable to believe what he was hearing.

"Number one. She was a hell of a lot safer before Sheriff Waters and his bunch of do gooder's found out you're alive! My god Sam, how long to think it'll be before the press gets wind of that? The press and Valenski?"

Prescott nodded in agreement.

"You're right. I wasn't 'spectin' us to be interrupted last night. Another reason why I need to get Mal out of here pronto."

"Sam, Brooke loved you - she still does- it took her years to pull herself together. First you die - or we think you die. Then, she falls apart. Won't eat, can't sleep, tries to drink herself to death," Cohen said bitterly. "Then that clown gets a divorce and sets his sights on her-"

Prescott's faced darkened as he stepped closer to Cohen.

"You mean to tell me that son of a bitch went after her on the rebound? That he is usin' Mal to get over-"

Cohen looked at Prescott startled.

"Which son of a bitch are _you_ talking about, Sam?"

"I'm talkin' about the SOB that was chasin' ADA's long before I faked my death. I'm talkin' about that shyster in Manhattan that's been sharing my wife's bed," he bellowed. "Who do you_ think_ I was talkin' about, Jake?"

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Jack McCoy came around from his desk to greet his lover as she opened the door to his office. One look at the woman who was still wearing the clothes he'd seen her in when he dropped her at work the previous day, was enough for McCoy to know something very wrong had happened.

"Valenski? Did he -"

Brooke shook her head as she looked up into the loving brown eyes that were filled with concern. She stepped back and studied him for a moment. The dark grey suit, the crisp white shirt, the striped tie, and of course the tiny flag on the lapel… McCoy's standard issue for the office. There was something overwhelmingly reassuring about seeing him….something that shouted normal and safe.

"Brooke, if it's not Valenski, what is it?"

She reached up and kissed him, her body clinging to him as her lips found his. McCoy returned the kiss, becoming more alarmed by her silence. McCoy could feel her trembling as he broke the kiss and gently ran a hand through her tousled hair. As he took a deep breath, he faintly smelled something vaguely familiar, it took him a few seconds to place. The scent of pipe tobacco laced with an unfamiliar cologne or was it after shave?

"Come on, come sit down and let me get you come coffee. You look like you haven't slept," he said as he led her to a chair.

Brooke watched as he went to the small pot behind the desk, returning with a mug of coffee he placed in her hands, as he sat beside her.

"Brooke, it's after ten. I know you had a closing to give-"

"I asked Jake to handle it before I left this morning."

"Before you left the office," he prodded.

"I didn't go in today. I asked Jake before I left his place, to come see you."

McCoy shook his head , trying fit the bits of information together.

"You stayed with Jake last night? Joe was watching your place…Brooke, what happened to make you leave the house after we talked? It was late, you seemed fine-"

Brooke ran a hand through her hair, as she searched his face.

_Why is this so hard_, she asked herself. _Why can't I just say the words…How can I ..what if he..._

"Sam's alive."

McCoy eyes widened, first in confusion, then with understanding. He started to speak, to question her. Then, he saw the look in her eyes and paused. There was no mistake. It wasn't her sleeping pills. It wasn't a dream. It was real - he could see it in her eyes and the way her fingers unconsciously played with the ring he had given her.

McCoy head spun with questions that demanded answers, yet when he saw the turmoil in her eyes there was only questions he could ask.

"What do you need from me, Brooke?"

McCoy could see her expression relax somewhat and he realized how intensely she had been watching him.

"Right now? Right now I just need you to hold me. Is that too much to ask, Jack? Just hold me and don't ask me anything else, because the only thing I know is that I want you to hold me."

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"Listen, Jake," Suffolk County District Attorney Michael Jackowicz commanded. "You find her, tell her to get back down here by the time court convenes tomorrow morning and to do her job or I'll find someone else to do it for her."

Cohen followed the burly man down the corridor. In the time Cohen had worked in the DA's office, he had seem the man who resembled most people's vision of Santa this livid only twice. Once when a hung jury let off a multiple child rapist and the second time when evidence that could have convicted a serial killer was thrown out of court on due to an illegal search.

This time was worse.

When Jackowicz had come by Brooke's office during lunch, to ask how the closing had gone on a capital case Cohen and Brooke were working on. The DA had been less than pleased to find one on his senior prosecutor's was nowhere to be found.

"Michael, you know she'd be here if something important hadn't happened," Cohen persisted as the pair moved towards the DA's office.

"And what in hell is more important than a capital case," Jackowicz demanded." As if I don't know."

Cohen hesitated, knowing the importance of keeping Sam Prescott's return under wraps, as long as possible.

The DA saw the uncertainty in Cohen face, mistaking it for confirmation of Jackowicz's own assumption.

"Listen Jake," Jackowicz said stopping in front of the office next to his own. "You call Prescott and tell her if playing hooky to run off and play house with Jack McCoy is so damn important to her, maybe she should hit him up for a job in Manhattan."

"Michael, she's not play-"

Before Cohen could finish the two men exchanged surprised glances at the loud 'thud' that came from EADA Clint Rennard's office.

"Clint, are you - oh my God," Jackowicz gasped, slamming the door behind them.

Jackowicz reached for Sam Prescott, who was standing over Clint Renard, fist still clenched. Cohen reached down to help Renard stand. Cohen guided him to the chair behind the desk, wrapping his handkerchief around the bloody area around his jaw line.

"You _bastard_," Prescott sneered fighting Jackowicz's grip. "As soon as I'm gone, you go after _my wife_- "

"Sam," Jackowicz snapped as he backed him into the opposite corner of the room. "Just simmer down.."

Jackowicz glared at Renard - irritated that his office had turned into a soap opera in the blink of an eye - stunned to see the former federal prosecutor was alive and assaulting one of Jackowicz's own.

"It wasn't like that, Sam," Renard gasped. "Brooke will tell you…my marriage was over …she thought you were dead. My God, she could hardly sober up long enough to make it through court after losing-"

"Shut up, Clint,' Cohen snapped.

"So you take her to bed like _that_," Prescott demanded incredulously as he broke free. "What kind of man are you? You take advantage of a woman in mourning? The wife of a man you used play pool with every other Friday? Damn it Clint, you sworeto me, if I got killed you'd look after her."

"Sam I never meant for it to go as far as it did-"

Prescott lunged again. Cohen shoved the handkerchief in Renard's mouth as he jumped in front of the two men. Jackowicz grabbed one arm, Cohen the other .

"Don't be stupid Sam - Brooke doesn't need you in jail on assault-"

"I'm a dead man, remember Michael? A dead man whose gonna take someone with him this time!"

"Jake get Clint out of here - take him to my office and lock the door," Jackowicz said shoving Prescott against the wall.

Once the door closed Jackowicz loosened his grip, stepping back as he caught his breath.

"All right Sam. Obviously you're not dead. Witness protection, I assume," he said waiting for the confirming nod. "And you're back now because of the Valenski reversal? Let's hear it - how did Brooke react when you saw her?"

Prescott ran his handkerchief over his damp face as he staggered over to one of the chairs in front of Renard's desk. As he adjusted his vest he looked back at Jackowicz, who had taken the chair beside him.

"Not well, " he admitted as he ran a hand over his swollen cheek bone. "Which is to be expected - things got out of hand - added to her shock. Pretty much screwed the whole thing up."

Jackowicz chuckled as he thought about the woman he'd watched for more than fifteen years blossom into one of his strongest prosecutors. He could well image how Brooke had reacted to being broadsided with such a revelation after more than five years…after five years and finally getting her life back on track.

"You know about her relationship with the Manhattan DA," he asked carefully.

Prescott nodded.

"Hell yes - I've known for months they were seein' each other. Even back in Tulsa, I read the Sunday _New York Times._ I saw the photos. Did some research when Mal went on trial for the death of that Weaver woman."

"Then you know Clint is the least of your concerns. Won't help your cause to go after him again."

Prescott sighed heavily, nodding in agreement.

"What the hell am I gonna do, Michael? How am I gonna get her to see reason and agree to join me in witness protection, with old 'Hang It Where Ever He Sees Fit McCoy' in her life? My God - the man's gone grey and he _still_ can charm the ladies…"

Jackowicz chuckled."Yeah, no one knows how Jack still manages it - but he does. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to see this office become was a pool for Jack's romantic interests. But, you have to admit, he's a damn good prosecutor and from what I've seem, he's doing right by Brooke."

Prescott stood and began to pace, finally settling by the window, his back to the DA.

"I know the kind of man Jack McCoy is," he said grudgingly. "Like I said - I did some research. Although, I do remember Jack from years back. Nothin's changed. He's still rides the ethics line like that bike of his - and his motives are honorable. Jack's never taken a bribe - never gone after a defendant for personal glory. The man's got integrity and I respect that. Unfortunately, so does my wife - probably one of things that attracted her to him in the first place."


	8. Chapter 8

"Brooke you can't avoid him forever. Sooner or later you have to go home."

Brooke looked up from her soup bowl as the waiter removed the last of the dinner dishes. She had spent the balance of the day in Jack McCoy's apartment. Showering and changing into a pair of jeans and a fresh shirt that she had left a few weekends before. Afterwards, she did what she usually did in times of personal crisis. Brooke moved through her day on auto-pilot by handling an assortment of practical matters in a series of phone calls to her boss Michael Jackowicz, Jake Cohen, and a former classmate from Stanford who specialty was matrimonial law.

"Home? You mean the house I paid off with Sam's life insurance. A house which, by the way, Sam is entitled to half of the equity of?"

McCoy squeezed her hand as he smiled.

"Nothing like being scorned to get a woman to a divorce lawyer at lightening speed,"he commented with amusement.

Brooke gave him a savvy glance, as she raised an eyebrow,

"I'd hardly consider finding out the man I _thought_ I buried five years ago is alive, as being scorned. You know how well I prepare for trial counselor,"she replied pensively."Is it really such a shock that I'd prepare equally as well for possible civil litigation?"

"I seriously doubt Sam has even thought about taking the house or your combined marital assets. I assume whatever he has in mind has to do with keeping you in that house _with_ him, not evicting you."

Brooke picked up the glass beside her and drank the remainder of her wine.

"Actually, the idea is for me to forget the last five years and move to Tulsa, or God knows where else, with him. As if nothing's changed. Forget the fact I have a life here that includes you, a career I worked like hell to build, as well as my relationships with brother and niece."

McCoy lips formed the hint of a smile as he looked at the edge of the table, where Brooke's hand rested. He found it surprizingly reassuring to be at the top of her list of reasons as to why she had no intention of giving into anything Sam Prescott thought he could demand of her. Still, he knew Brooke was right. she was a skilled prosecutor. Calling a matrimonial attorney was a offensive strike. A knee jerk reaction at having her world turned up side down with no warning. As much as he had questions of his own he longed ask, he knew she was still in shock, in need of support not additional pressure.

"You're not going to come up with all the answers tonight, so don't even try," he said picking up her hand."You know you're welcome to stay with me as long as you like. But, the fact remains, you will have to talk to Sam eventually. Whether you're ready to admit it to me or yourself, you know you do _want_ to see him again, Brooke-"

McCoy paused, noticing her eyes were focused over his shoulder. He turned to see a man he recognized as Sam Prescott coming towards the table.

McCoy looked at her quizzically, still holding her hand.

"I can keep him busy if you want to duck out the back and make a fast getaway?"

Brooke shook her head as she squeezed his hand before slipping it back on the table.

"I'll be fine. You sure you're up for this? I can keep him busy while _you _duck out-"she teased.

McCoy gave her his most charming smile.

"I'm not intimated by living legends. Even in the form of resurrected hot shot federal prosecutors."

"Mighty glad to hear that Jack," Prescott said as he held out his hand. "Wouldn't 'pect the Manhattan DA would be intimated by much of anything - 'specially after some of the scrapes you've had the last few years. Congratulations on your appointment."

"Thank you Sam," McCoy said as he took the offered hand. "Congratulations on your return. Mind if I ask how you found us?"

"Oh that," Prescott said modestly. "Figured it was a safe bet when Mal wasn't at the office, she'd be with you. I remember how much she loves a good bowl of gazpacho, so I took a chance on the places near Hogan Place that serve it. I found you two on the third try."

"I hear you think you can sweet talk me into witness protection," Brooke said flatly. "If that's why you're here, Sam, you better think again."

"Sounds like you've been talkin' to Jake. Actually, I'm here because I want to apologize for last night," he said earnestly as he took the sat down beside her. "I never meant for things to go the way they did. I lost sight of how much I was askin' you to deal with. Darlin' I'm truly sorry I upset you."

McCoy watched as the other man kissed her chastely on the cheek as he took her hand in his. McCoy could almost feel Brooke's shoulders tense. Torn himself by an impulse to stake his own claim in no uncertain terms and the fact he knew the last thing his lover needed was a pissing match between her himself and her husband, McCoy laid some money on the table and stood.

"Brooke, I know you two have things to discuss. I'm sure Sam would be more comfortable discussing those things privately. I'll wait for you in the bar," he said meeting her eyes with a reassuring smile. "A pleasure, Sam."

"Likewise Jack," Prescott said as he summed up his rival, amused at McCoy quietly protective gesture. "I never knew you found grey to be an attractive feature."

"I never knew you to be so brazen," she countered. "If we're both in so much danger, is it wise for us to be sitting in a public place together where anyone could take a shot at us?"

"Good point, good point. But you see darlin', the plain fact is whether we're in a restaurant or hiding in the basement, until we change your identity and mine again, any place is going to be a dangerous place."

"I can't believe the man that wouldn't even carry a gun expects me to just up at the drop of a hat. Have you given any thought to our niece? Have you even seen Lindsay or Andy?"

"I made the rounds while you were gone today. I stopped in at your brother's place 'fore I came out here. Stopped by your office as well. Got caught up with Michael _and_ Clint."

Brooke glanced down at the swollen knuckles of his right hand, remembering her earlier phone conversation with Jake Cohen. When she looked back up into the pale green eyes, her eyes were filled with disapproval.

"Jake said you damn near killed Clint. Why? Because_ I_ made a poor choice or because _you _wanted to claim to what you _think_ is rightfully yours?"

Prescott held her gaze, a striken look flickering for an instant in his eyes.

"You're implyin' that I think of you as property? You know me better than that. But you are right when you say I think of you as mine. Something about til death us do part."

"Yeah…til death us do part. ..what a mockery you've made out of that," she said with a shaky voice. "For the record, I was as much to blame as Clint was. He and I have made amends. If you care for me as much as you say, you'll do the same."

"If that will make you happy. You have my word, I will try," he replied. "May I inquire whether you plan to return home tonight? Before you answer that, you might consider the impracticality of you sleepin' in Manhattan and workin' in Islip. Michael was all ready raisin' hell with Jake about you bein' out of the office-"

"Nice try," she said smugly. "I spoke with both Jake and Michael. Now that he knows the situation, Michael has no problem with me taking some time to get our situation in order."

"But you have a problem with it. The last thing you want is to hand off your cases to another ADA. Especially for because of personal issues. I know that much can't have changed."

Brooke looked away, knowing he was right.

"Sam, I don't want you to think…I can't tell you how… how amazing it is to know you're alive, It really is a miracle. And I _am_ grateful. But this witness protection business…and yes, my relationship with Jack. I'm just not in a position to tell you what I want to do. Not tonight. Tonight I'm going to get a good night's sleep - here. In the morning I'm going to the courthouse and when I get home, we can talk if you want to. But I can't make any promises."

Brooke watched as Prescott chewed on the inside of his cheek and looking down at the floor as he shook his head. A stance she'd seen him take many times when Prescott was debating a strategy.

"Spit it out, Sam."

Prescott looked back up at her as he rubbed his chin.

"When you say 'here' you mean-"

"I mean Manhattan."

"As in?"

"Jack's."

"As in Jack's….? Apartment? Bed? Arms?"

Brooke flushed with a combination of annoyance and embarrassment. Annoyance that a man that had been back in her life less than twenty four hours had the nerve to so boldly question her sleeping arrangements. Embarrassed because, as much as she felt like rubbing his nose in her relationship with Jack McCoy, she knew exactly where she planned to sleep.

"Stop it Sam," she said in a voice that was almost a whisper. "Where I sleep stopped being your business when you left me. However, tonight I will be sleeping alone. Just don't read anything into that."

Prescott nodded, not bothering to try to hide his relief.

"Jack's guestroom? I appreciate your honesty, Mal. But, you realize everyday you wait-"

"Sam if you push me, I will tell you to go back to Tulsa or wherever, without me tonight," she said firmly.

Prescott held up a hand in defeat.

"'Nough said darlin', nough said. Jack's guestroom, "he repeated with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Does that mean I wouldn't be totally out of line askin' my wife for a goodnight kiss before I depart to catch the ferry home?"

Brooke smiled in spite of herself as she grudgingly shook her head. Prescott bowed slightly as he bent down to kiss her. As she returned the kiss, her heart began to beat faster. Prescott smiled to himself, feeling her heart against his. Knowing better than to make the mistake of overplaying his hand once again, he held her close and whispered in her ear.

"While we're apart, remember I love ya darlin'."

Without another word he stood and started towards the door.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Brooke glanced for the tenth time in twenty minutes at the luminous numbers that now read 3:18. With a sigh she threw back the covers and walked towards the door, noting the dim glow of light coming from underneath it.

When she found him, McCoy was sitting in one of the two wing chairs facing the grandfather clock in his living room. On his lap lay an open box that held a variety of mementos ranging from a pearl necklace, birthday and Valentine's cards, a set of earrings, and a pale blue scarf. As she sat on the arm of the chair, Brooke ran a hand over the tee-shirt that covered McCoy's chest.

"I have been incredibly selfish."

McCoy looked up at her, as he started to replace the lid on the shoe box. Brooke placed her hand over his, stopping him.

"Your husband's been back from the dead a day - you've been preoccupied. I'd hardly call that selfish."

"I never should have dumped all this at your door. Tomorrow I'll pick up a few things from the house and stay at my brother's until I figure out what I'm doing. I should have known Sam's return from the dead would bring everything back up to the surface for you."

McCoy set the box on the floor and pulled her onto his lap.

"I won't say, Claire hasn't been on my mind since you told me about Sam."

"Makes sense - I have my miracle. Only natural you'd -"

"Brooke, _you're_ my miracle. Maybe if I'd made more of a commitment to you, you'd know that," he said firmly.

"I'm happy with our promise," she said softly, as she ran a hand through the feathered locks that never seemed to stay quite out of his eyes.

McCoy took her hand and looked down at the ring on her right hand, suddenly embarrassed, remembering feeling the same reluctance to commit to Claire Kincaid…another opportunity for happiness lost…

"It's been more than a decade. And Claire wasn't handling any cases that would warrant faking her death. I know she's not coming back."

Brooke nodded as she rested her head again his shoulder.

"Jack, I know you still miss her. I can only image, how you'd feel if the positions were reversed. I just hope I'd be as understanding as you've been."

McCoy chuckled softly.

"I'm no saint, Brooke. If I thought you'd let me get away with it, I have you back in my bed without a second thought - husband back from the dead or not. I have my own questions I want answered and nothing would give me greater pleasure right now, than to punch out Sam. But none of those things would make this any easier for you."

"Tell you what counselor, when I have answers, you'll be the first person to hear them," she said wearily as she looked up into his dark eyes. "Tell me something, Jack?"

"If I can."

"What if…what if it _was _Claire. What if you could have her back tomorrow-"

"Oh Brooke," he sighed. "I deal in what is, not what if's."

Brooke smiled sadly as she stood.

"Nice save - except I know you better than that Jack," she said as she bent down to kiss his forehead. "It's never so much what you say, it's what you leave unsaid, that gives you away."


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't see where you have a choice anymore, Sis. Not after seeing this."

Andy Malinowski handed his sister a copy of the _Islip Bulletin _as he closed her car door and moved to the driver's side of his Saturn Vue. Brooke stared down at the headline:_ Federal Prosecutor Prescott Returns From the Dead._

"Andy, it's a local paper-"

"Brooke, look at the byline. A _Times_ reporter broke the story. It's got to be all over the wire services and internet by now," the burly middle aged man in a Suffolk County fire Department jacket countered.

As Malinowski maneuvered the SUV through the early morning traffic away from the ferry station and onto the road that led to Brooke's house, she scanned the article about Sam Prescott's return to Islip in the face of Vladimir Valenski's release from prison.

"Andy, It's not like there haven't been threats before. I'm not going to just throw everything I've worked for in the last five years away because of the possibility-"

"Possibility? Damn it Brooke, open your eyes. My daughter has a protective detail taking her to soccer practice, for God's sake! Besides us, what the hell is holding you here? Ajob? A man you've seen for barely for over a year that's gives you a promise ring - as if you're in high school? Come on Brooke, you know what you had with Sam - that kind of happiness happens once in a lifetime. What's it going to take? One of you getting shot, before you start thinking with you brain instead of-"

"Geez Andy - way to support your sister," she said flabbergasted. "If things were a simple as you make it sound - if just unquestioningly walking off into the sunset with a man that let us all believe he was dead-"

"He was trying to _protect_ you," Malinowski interjected impatiently. "The bullet was real, Brooke. When the feds got him to the emergency room, they found out the bullet hadn't hit any vital organs. The lead agent on the detail laid it out for Sam. The only way to keep you from being a target was to convince Valenski's thugs they had killed him. There was a very real danger that it they tried again both of you would be shot or that they'd change their tactics and just grab you as retailitation against Sam."

Brooke stared at her brother shaking her head in disbelief, as she felt her pulse race.

"Great - just great," she hissed. "So tell me, while Sam filled you with whiskey and his tale of selfish less devotion, what did you tell him? Did you fill him in on the fact he left me before I could tell him I was pregnant? That I was such a mess because after the shooting that I lost the baby and damn near drank myself to death? Or did you manage to forget those minor consequences of the great and all knowing Sam Prescott's actions?"

Malinowski abruptly pulled the SUV up to the curb, putting it in park as turned to Brooke crestfallen.

"That's something you need to tell Sam in your own time and your own way. Besides," he added as he turned her towards him. "Do you really blame Sam for the miscarriage?"

Brooke sighed as she slowly shook her head.

"I blame him for shutting me out and making a decision that effected both of our lives with out a word to me. Andy, I don't know what I'm going to do. Whether you like it or not, I've been happy with Jack. Happier than I ever thought I could be again. That counts for something, too."

Malinowski lowered his eyes as he sighed.

"I know that. I just think you have a shot at a second chance that most of us never get."

Brooke patted her brother's hand gently.

"I know you still miss her, Andy. But this isn't the same thing. Cancer took Dana from you. She would have never willingly left you and Lindsay," she said as she opened the door. "Listen, the office is only another few blocks - I've got a suit there I can wear to court. I'll meet you at your place around 8:00 after I grab a few things from my place."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Brooke had been grateful for the unusually uneventful day at work. The lull gave her and her assistant much needed time to play catch up after the previous days events. By nine o'clock she and Cohen had parted ways. As she walked up the steps to her front door, she shook her head upon seeing Fontana's Mercedes reassuringly parked a few houses away. Although she couldn't deny the presence of an experienced NYPD officer would make her rest a bit easier, she knew Fontana's fee was not inexpensive. she made a mental note to call McCoy about it in the morning, as she pulled made a quick call to her brother. After advising Malinowski of that she would be on her way shortly, Brooke's suspisions were aroused when he brother vaguely told her he'd expect her when ever. Before she could question him, he had hurriedly ended the call.

As she opened the front door, she was surprised to find the living room dark. Her thoughts immediately went to the safety of her husband as she slipped the Browning from its holster, as she tentively called Prescott's name.

"I'm up stairs, darlin'. Fixin' that hinge. Supper's in the dinin' room. Be right down."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Brooke set her briefcase down by the staircase and laid the gun on the entry table after replacing the safety. As she moved towards the dining room, she removed all things constraining - jacket, holster, and bullet roof vest - leaving them on one of the dining room chairs.

In the dining room she found the table set for two with her good china and silver, sparkling in the candlelight. Two champagne glasses were out, sitting between an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and a vase holding a mixture of pale pink roses and a pink flower with faint yellow speckles that she recognized as a laurel variety that served as the state flower of West Virginia. A beautiful flower that had become one of her favorites after a trip with her husband to West Virgina to see his hometown. The meaning of her brother's vague response was now clear.

Brooke swore softly as she blew out the candles and turned on the kitchen light, just the CD player in the living room began playing a Anne Murray CD.

"Think I finally got that door hangin' right again after last night's l'il scene. You're friend Mr. Fontana has a powerful right foot."

"Sam, I'm just here to pick up some clothes. Andy's expecting me," she said as Prescott began to re light the candles.

"Hold on now Mal. I know good and well - aside from a hand full of crackers or a few bites of a burger - you haven't eaten all day. I'm sure Andy will understand if you sit down and have a real meal before you head on over there, "he said as he opened the champagne.

"Well, I guess you'd know very well what Andy would understand. Given that you enlisted him in your little campaign to get your way. Can't tell you how thrilled I was to get the details of your departure second hand."

"Now darlin' don't go getting all upset," he said handing her a champagne flute. "I told you last night I made the rounds yesterday. Saw our beautiful niece and spent some time catchin' up with your brother. Naturally he had questions."

"Have you forgotten how much I hated it when you 'now darlined me'," she said setting the glass down. "As far as just makin' the rounds - it's a pretty low kind of man that gets a man whose wife died from breast cancer to start thinking about second chances. Lower than I thought you'd ever sink, Samuel."

"'Samuel'? Now I know I'm in the dog house," he said with amusement that vanished upon meeting her disappointed stare.

"You're right - maybe I went further than I should have. I wasn't thinkin' about Dana's death when I talked to Andy about you and I gettin' back together. I'm sorry, Mal," he said shuffling his feet as he looked at the floor. "I'll tell ya. I don't what I'm doin'. I come back, find you're sweet on Jack McCoy…desperate times, call for desperate measures. Maybe I ought just pack up and go back to Tulsa. Either that or dye my hair grey and get a motorcycle."

Brooke stared at her husband in disbelief, until Prescott slyly glanced upward, looking like a bad puppy checking to see if all is forgiven.

"Damn you Prescott," she said chuckling in spite of being annoyed. "You almost had me."

Prescott gave her a wink and pulled out the chair beside her.

"Can't blame a guy for tryin' darlin'. 'Sides, maybe you can resist _me_ these days, but I _know_ you can't resist my jambalaya and greens."

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

As she drank the last of her champagne, Prescott promptly picked up the bottle and emptied the last of its contents into Brooke's glass. After finishing dinner, Prescott had persuaded Brooke to help him find a set of files from the Valenski investigation, which led to rummaging through boxes, some of which 'just happened' to contain of scrap books and photo albums. By the time the files were found, the pair had stumbled onto an album containing photos of their niece when she was first born.

Prescott seized the opportunity. The pair took the album downstairs to scan over a second bottle of champagne.

"I swear that child was the most beautiful child ever born," Prescott said as Brooke closed the album and set it on the coffee table.

"You won't get any argument here, "Brooke agreed as she put her feet up on the table.

Prescott took note of the closed toed pumps and moved to remove them.

"Now - don't go getting' all-,"he paused as he remembered her earlier words. "What I mean is, don't be offended, I know you've been on your feet all day."

"As long as you understand that's all that's coming off tonight."

"Understood ma'am," he said as he began rubbing a foot. "Wouldn't want you to have to explain yourself to old Jack in the mornin'."

Brooke gave him a look, as she stood.

"Don't ruin the evening by bein' snide," she warned.

"Tell you what, "he said as he stood as well. "I won't say anything more about Jack McCoy tonight, if you'll dance with me."

Prescott moved the coffee table back towards to wall, just as the CD started its last selection. Brooke looked up at him, taken by surprise as their wedding song began to play.

"Oh Prescott, you _are _low," she breathed.

Prescott shrugged as he held out a hand.

"Surely a little two step in't gonna lessen your resolve to remain loyal to the man you're ah…'promised' to," he said with a chuckle.

"Cockiness is a very unattractive trait - my brother's big mouth a side," she said smugly.

"Well be that as it may, the music's playin'. I've requested a dance. You seem a bit gun shy,"he said challengingly."If a little two step has you worried, that doesn't speak well of your commitment to the good Mr. McCoy"

"Fine," she said confidently as she took his hand and moved into his arms. "Songs half over anyway."

Prescott bit back a laugh, knowing the CD was one he himself had burned. A CD with an extended version of Anne Murray's _'Can I have This Dance'_.

"You remember the first time we danced to this song, honey?"

"I remember,"she said indifferently, still unwilling to admit the effect the carefully staged evening was having on her."I remember lots of things."

"As do I,"he said softly."I remember when we decided to try to start a family. One of the true regrets of my life has been leavin' just when-.

"You_ know_,"she said taken off guard. "Andy swore he didn't-"

"Slow down, Mal," Prescott said startled by her response. "Lookin' at little Lindsay just-"

"I was waiting for the right time to tell you," she explained regretfully."Everything was so...That's why I went to hear your closing that afternoon. I wanted to tell you after court and then you got shot..."

"Honey, I'm sorry. I don't -"

"No," she said as her voice began to break. "Don't be sorry… I was almost forty. It was a high risk pregnancy to start with..."

Prescott stared down at her as she described the events leading to the miscarriage. As she spoke, tears came to his eyes, as the pieces fell into place. Tears of joy, at learning they had made a child together. Tears of sorrow, at realizing how quickly their chance at parenthood had been taken. Tears of guilt, knowing his wife had gone through not one, but two devastating losses without him by her side.

"Oh Brooke," he said holding her tightly against his chest. "It makes sense now. Clint…the drinkin'...everything...oh baby I'm so, so sorry."

The pale green eyes were marred by tears and thin red lines. She reached up, taking his face in her hands. Each aware that they had recaptured the intimacy of their relationship. A devasting intimacy, at level that only parents of a dead child could acheive.

Prescott eased her back onto the sofa as the music finally came to an end, holding her tightly as she sobbed. Finally, he lifted her chin and kissed her. Mildly surprised at not meeting any resistance, a twinge of guilt made him pull back. Sarcasm, indifference, combativeness were all defensive mechanisms Brooke always relied on in times of great stress. Prescott knew his wife well and had been prepared to deal with those reactions to his return. But to see her vunerable, raw with saddness,brought home the results of his decision to leave and the pain his wife had suffered because of that decision.

Prescott looked into Brooke's eyes. Her eyes that seemed so sad, so tired, so breathtakingly beautiful.

"I love you darlin'," he whispered.

"I love you too, "she said softly as she closed her eyes and his lips found hers once more.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

When she opened her eyes the clock on the mantel read 5:48. Sunlight was beginning to stream through the front windows. Groaning at the prospect of moving, she rubbed her throbbing temples. Brooke reluntantly opened her eyes and glanced at the man under the blanket beside her. It took her a few seconds to realize where the periodic beeping was coming from. Carefully, she extracted herself from Prescott's embrace. She steadied herself before moving to the staircase and picking up her cellphone from the entry table.

"Oh no," she muttered as she accessed the list of her missed calls. One from her brother, two from Jake Cohen, and seven from Jack McCoy. Just as she pressed the button to retrieve her voice mail, there was a knock at her front door.

"Who'd be knockin' at this hour," Prescott mumbled, stirring from the sofa. "The sun in't even up yet."

Brooke instrictively grabbed the gun from the entry table and looked out the peep hole. She stepped back more even more confused. After returning the weapon to the table, she quickly unlocked the door.

"Detective Green? If you're looking Jack," she said uncertainly, mild panic creeping into her voice as a frightening thought entered her mind. "Jack - is he all right? Did something happen-"

"Mrs. Prescott, I need to ask you to step back," Green said as he handed Brooke a warrant.

"Samuel Prescott," Michael Logan asked as he entered the living room.

Prescott stood looking quizzically at his wife.

"I'm Samuel Prescott. And you are?"

"I'm Detective Green Homicide. This is Detective Logan from the Major Case Squad."

"Homicide _and_ Major Case," Prescott said curiously. "Sounds mighty serious for our little hamlet."

"We're with the NYPD, sir" Logan explained. "Mr. Prescott we have a warrant for your arrest."

"On what charge, "he demanded as Cassady began to cuff him.

Brooke looked up from the warrant and stared at Ed Green in disbelief. She remembered Green from her previous dealing with the NYPD over the course of her relationship with McCoy. As much as she wanted to belief some terrible mistake had been made -that they had the wrong Sam Prescottt or the arrest warrant was some sort of sick practical joke - she knew Green to be too much of a professional for the arrest warrante not to be legetimate.

"The warrant says murder one, "she said incredulously.

"_What_," Prescott snapped. "Who do you think I killed, detective?"

"Vladimir Valenski. You have the right to remain silent…"


	10. Chapter 10

Jack McCoy stood at the back of the courtroom as the clerk called the next case scheduled for arraignment.

"Docket number 16707, _The People versus Samuel Emerson Prescott._ The charge: Murder in the first degree."

ADA Connie Rubirosa moved to take her place at the front of the court room, opposite the defendant and his counsel.

Judge Lisa Pomgracic turned her gaze to the defendant's counsel.

"How does the defendant plead Ms.?"

"Brooke Prescott, temporary counsel for the defendant, your honor. My client pleads not guilty and requests ROR."

"Your honor," Rubirosa countered. "The defendant has just left witness protection. He has no current ties to the community, he has access to multiple identities that would help him to flee the jurisdiction-"

"Mr. Prescott is a former federal prosecutor, your honor. His record of service to his community, as well as, the state of New York and country are unquestionable, "Brooke replied passionately. "He has given up his family, his home, his profession to keep a dangerous drug lord off the streets-"

"Who he murdered upon his return to New York," Rubirosa reminded the court. "Mr. Prescott's good works are not in question today. His ability to flee the jurisdiction is."

Brooke handed the clerk a packet as she addressed the judge.

"A side from the fact Mr. Prescott's only assets are the clothes on his back and a meager balance in the checking account he used while in Tulsa working as a carpenter. An account with a balance of exactly one thousand thirteen dollars and ninety seven cents, making bail an undue hardship. I have been authorized by the Suffolk County District Attorney's office to ask for a change in venue to Suffolk county for this case, as well."

McCoy closed his eyes and shook his head as he heard the words, the sudden movement causing him to bump into the dark haired young woman who was trying to hurriedly slip passed him. McCoy's turned just in time to see the whisper of a smile Federal Prosecutor Abbie Carmichael gave him, as she moved towards the front of the room.

"Mrs. Prescott - are you here as defense counsel or as a prosecutor for Suffolk County, "Judge Pongracic inquired.

"I'm here to represent the defendant, your honor. It would be in Mr. Prescott's best interests to have this case heard in Suffolk county. The Valenski crime family has less influence there than in Manhattan. Also, the crime did take place within five hundred feet of the county line. In _People v_-"

"Excuse me your honor, "Carmichael interjected, handing the clerk yet another packet."Abigail Carmichael, representing the State Attorney's office. In view of the fact the victim had connections to organized crime that effected not only Manhattan and Suffolk counties, but all of New York state, as well as the defendant being a former federal prosecutor, my office is moving to have this case heard in federal court -"

"You honor that's outrageous," Rubirosa countered. "There's a clear conflict of interest by the state attroney's office to-"

The judge held her hand up as she set the papers down.

"Ms. Rubirosa, I sympathize. Apparently everyone wants a piece of Mr. Prescott. My hands are tied. This cases will go to Part 29 for oral arguments on venue. As for bail," she said turning her attention back to Prescott. "Clearly leaving a former prosecutor in lock up would be grounds for appeal under the eighth amendment, as well as -"

"Your honor," Rubirosa pleaded. "Whether the case goes to Suffolk county, the federal courts, or stays in Manhattan, Mr. Prescott had motive, opportunity, and means. The people's case has clear evidence that warrants remand-"

"Which will be akin to giving my client the death penalty before the trial even begins, "Brooke added bluntly.

"Defense counsel is being overly dramatic. Rikers Island has an isolation-"

"Your honor, the people withdraw their request for remand," a raspy voice said firmly. "On the condition that the defendants passport be surrendered and bail be set at one million dollars."

Rubirosa shot her boss a dagger look before turning her angry gaze to the floor.

"One million dollars," Brooke countered turning to McCoy. "From a man with less than ten thousand dollars in the bank? That's Mr. McCoy's idea of 'reasonable' bail?"

"Mr. Prescott has substantial interest in at least one property in Suffolk county. The residence he purchased before he went into witness protection. The defendant still has legal claim to that property, which is worth twice the amount of bail, at current market value," McCoy retorted haltingly, meeting Brooke's skeptical gaze.A look that instantly became filled with controlled rage as she realized what McCoy was doing."With such assets, one million dollars is a more then reasonable bail request, your honor."

"Is this true, Mrs. Prescott," the judge asked.

"It is," Brooke responded tightly as her eyes bore into McCoy's well practiced poker face.

The judge nodded slowly as she looked from the DA to defense counsel.

"I agree with Mr. McCoy. One million dollars cash or bond and Mr. Prescott surrenders his passport, "she said slamming the gravel down. "Next case."

"What is the point in sending me to an arraignment,"Rubirosa demanded as she turned to McCoy."If you're going to stand at the back of the room and second guess everything I-"

"Not now, Connie, "he said tersely as Brooke moved passed him towards the gate.

McCoy put a hand on her shoulder and she turned to face him, her face now a maks of professionalism as his had been a moment before.

"Unless you want to talk about dropping the charges, it would be improper-,"she began.

"Counselor, the front entrance is full of news cameras and reporters," he replied in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "When the paperwork is done, have one of the court officers take you out the Baxter Street exit. They'll be some local's press, but nothing like if you go out Centre Street."

Brooke paused, finally squeezing the hand that lay on her shoulder, before quickly continuing passed him.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

McCoy was in the process of ordering his fifth scotch on the rocks when the trim brunette slid into the stool beside him. McCoy turned towards Abbie Carmichael, waiting for her to place her order for a glass of white wine, before opening his arms to embrace his former assistant.

"Abbie, looks like you haven't forgotten where I live during trial."

"As long as _Clancy's_ stays in business, they'll never be a doubt as to where you can be found after you leave the courthouse,"she replied good naturedly as she sighed. "Looks like our offices on gonna either be playing tug-o-war or working together on this, Jack."

McCoy grimaced as the drinks arrived.

"Come on Abbie. We both know why your office is involved. If the case gets reassigned, it'll be dropped and Sam Prescott will be up for a medal of honor, before you can say conflict of interest,"he said with a knowing smirk as he raised his glass.

"Do you really think Sam Prescott left witness protection to come back here and get himself throw in jail with a life sentence, "she asked incredulously. "Come on Jack. If the man wanted to play vigilante he's had five years to track down guys who got off nice and quietly-"

"I don't need you to tell me why Sam Prescott came back Abbie."

Carmichael bit her lip as she played with the stem of her glass. Finally she gently slipped the glass out of McCoy's hand and looked him in the eyes.

"That's right Jack - the man came back with the sole purpose of making your life miserable. Had nothing to do with one of the most powerful crime bosses on the east coast getting out of jail or the fact his-"

McCoy smiled at Carmichael's sudden silence.

"Say it Abbie. Come on, it's not like you to be shy,"he challenged her. "Fine. If you won't say it I will. Or the fact his_ wife _might be in danger again_… _his devoted wife. His wife who he nobly abandoned to protect. A woman who is so dedicated to her husband that she leaps to his defense without a second thought."McCoy began as he made a sweeping gesture across the bar, nearly knocking over the drink Carmichael hastily moved out of his path. "Without so much as a returning a phone call..."

_...or the other six that followed_, he said to himself, as he thought of the calls and messages he had left the night before.

"Well Jack, what did you _expect_ her to do," Carmicheal asked sympathetically. "I know you care for her - that's been obvious for quite a while. If you feel so strongly, why haven't you…why didn't you marry her when you had the chance?"

McCoy grinned lazily back at Carmichael's look of concern as he downed the drink and threw some money on the bar.

"Gee Abbie, maybe two failed marriages had something to do with that ,"he said with sad humor. "As to what I expected? Nothing. I learned a longtime ago the best way not to be disappointed is to expect nothing."

"Where do think you're going? You know you can't drive-" she began.

McCoy lifted her chin, moving close enough for her to smell the mixture of scotch and musky cologne she remembered from her years of working with McCoy. She stared up at him as he leaned in.

"Abbie, you always did have a good heart.," he said softly, his voice heavy with drink." I'm the DA now. I have a town car at my disposal, so no worries."

Connie Rubirosa stopped when she saw McCoy and Carmichael at the bar. Unsure of what she would be interrupting, she turned to leave as the door closed with its usual thump, causing McCoy to involuntarily glance over Carmichaels shoulder.

"Connie," he said with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "You know Abbie Carmichael? I didn't realize Wednesday was Ladies Night. Come sit down. What can I get you?"

"How about a little information," she asked nodding at Carmichael. "Since when did you decide it's our job to help a murder one defendant make bail?"

Carmichael raised an eyebrow, as she looked curiously at her former boss.

"I wondered about that myself. Even though I doubt Sam Prescott committed murder, you obviously had enough to indict. What happened, Jack? All this tough talk…yet you practically gift wrap bail for the man?"

"Gift wrapped a one way ticket across of a number of borders as well," Rubirosa chimed in. "After all these years, Prescott's got to have connections that would make flight more than accessible-"

McCoy shook his head at the naivety he saw in women he usually found to be more than savvy in the execution of their jobs. Standing between them, he rested an arm around each of their shoulders as he drew them in, like conspirators plotting a crime.

"Ladies, I thought I taught both of you better than this. A flight risk? Hardly, "he said with grim humor. "By putting that house up - a house paid for with life insurance money that will now have to be paid back - I guaranteed the defendant will appear in court. Once that house is put up for bail, there's no way Sam Prescott's going to leave his wife holding the bag to pay back a million dollar bond."


	11. Chapter 11

_Good news: New chapter is up. Bad news: I go back to work Monday, so I had to cut the chapter in half to have itready for today. Hopefully, next half will be up late Monday. Special thanks to the best Beta on the planet, Giwu, for looking this chapter over and helping add a bit more spice._

After another hour of Carmichael and Rubirosa mother henning him into a bowl of soup and several cups of coffee, McCoy was able to convince the duo he was sober to wait alone for the town car to arrive. After the pair left, he took out the rarely used cellphone of his jacket pocket. Once McCoy had notified the driver he would not need him until the morning, he paid the tab and headed for the door.

One of the things he missed about being a private citizen was his spontanous walks in the evening. Since becoming district attorney, McCoy had all but abandoned them, in the name of safety. But this evening was different. This evening, playing it safe was the last thing on McCoy's mind.

Between the_ Clancy's_ and his apartment McCoy slipped into another bar. After visting the bathroom, he took the opportunity to have a night cap…or four. By the time he started his journey again it was nearly midnight. The streets were quiet and still, the evening mist coming down in a steady stream.

As he adjusted his fendora, he tried to remember the last time he'd felt so defeated, so disillusioned, so drunk. He smiled weakly as he looked at himself in a store window. His smile faded as he realized the last time he'd felt that way was the night Claire Kincaid had died.

Of course, he hadn't known she was dead yet. He just knew the relationship was on its last leg and he was about to lose one of the most remarkable women he'd known. Her avoidance and silent disapproval had pushed thoughts to the front of his mind that he rarely reflected on. Thoughts of his childhood, his failed first marriage, and what the future might hold for a man fast approaching his fifith birthday.

All those damned messages he'd left that night that went unanswered….just like when he tried to reach Brooke Prescott. The first few times McCoy had called, he simply wanted to see how she was holding up. The later calls had been to warn her that Green and Cassady would be picking Sam Prescott in the morning. McCoy felt he owned it to Brooke to give her the chance to have Prescott come to the 2 7 on his own. The longer his phone remained silent, the clearer her unspoken message had become.

She hadn't gone to her brother's that night. She'd stayed. She'd stayed with Prescott. In their house, probably in their bed, in their bed with_ him_…

"To hell with her,"he whispered, as he closed his eyes wearily. "To hell with both of them."

"Don't send your career to hell along with me and Claire."

McCoy opened his eyes. He stared at the woman beside him. For a moment, he was uncertain whether she was actually there or just a vision induced by one too many scotch on the rock's.

"At least I _assume_ Claire is the other part of the 'both of them' you had in mind,"she said, quietly amused. "Wandering around Manhattan in the middle of the night plastered isn't good for your image. If you plan to run for re-election next year, you might want to consider doing your drinking _after _you get home."

"Actually, you're mistaken, counselor. The companion I had in mind for your journey to hell is about a foot taller and drops his g's in a way women seem to find charming - or should I say charmin'- darlin'," McCoy said arrogantly with an exaggerated drawl. "In fact, where is…? Your client, your husband, whatever it is he is to you?"

McCoy hated to show his hand, whether in a courtroom or in personal matters. He prided himself on his ability maintain control of any situation by keeping his opponent never quite sure of his true feelings. As Brooke turned to him, defiantly moving within a few inches of him, he knew had she instantly seen his words for what they were.

"What's that, Jack? A little old-fashioned jealousy I hear,"she said with mock surprise."You mean you're actually going to act like you give a damn."

Although a dispassionate mask remained fixed to his face, in his mind, McCoy was sputtering with disbelief. How could she accuse him of not giving a damn? His jaw tighten ever so slightly.

The way he felt was irrational and reckless. Sam Prescott hadn't been back a week. It was to be expected Brooke would be confused, in need of spending time with the man, if for no other reason than to figure how she felt about him. McCoy thought he had evolved...was being civilized and behaving like the middle aged adult he was, inspite of the feelings that burned in him. Feelings he hadn't felt since he was a third year law student pursing his first serious love interest.

"What would you have me do, Brooke," he asked indifferently. "Challenge your husband to a duel for your honor? Pistols at twenty paces?"

"Beats the hell out of wondering if you love me as much as you love a dead woman,"she shot back, her words coming out wtih the faintest hint of a slur.

McCoy shook his head in amazement. If he hadn't been making an effort not to sway, he might have noticed the distinctive smell of liquor and lime on her breath. Instead, he noticed the scent of her perfume and the swell of her breasts that outlined the dark silk blouse that peaked out from under the open coat.

"Wallowing a bit tonight, aren't we,"he replied as he took a few steps.

"I'll tell you what, Jack,"she said promptly blocking his way."I'll drop my self pity, if you show me your outraged jealousy."

"You want outraged jealously, Brooke? Fine," he said sharply. "Where the hell did you sleep last night?"

"I slept in my house, on the sofa, _with_ my husband-,"she replied, flippantly challenging him to react.

"The sofa? I have guessed the pool table," he tossed the words coldly back, isssuing a challenge of his own.

He shifted his body slightly in an effort to ignore the response his body was having to the increasingly heated exchange.

Brooke gave him a dangerous look, before letting her gaze fall to the ground.

"Thank you for you're undying trust,"she said with equal aloofness."For the record, nothing happened."

"Nothing happened - this time," he said unimpressed. "What's he to you, Brooke?What do you want him to be and where the hell _is_ he?"

"Right now, he's a man wrongly accused of murder," she said stubbornly refusing to be the one who backed down first. "As long as his bail's paid, it's really no concern of the district attorney as to his whereabouts."

"I wasn't asking as the district attorney,"he said unable to keep from noticing the harding of her nipples against the front of the now damp blouse that seemed to be begging removed.

McCoy closed his eyes and shook his head as he tried to clear his mind.

"Why are you in front of_ Sax_ at 12:37 a m? Don't you have a case to try in the morning or did you resign so you can devote yourself to trying to saving your husband from a murder conviction?"

Brooke laughed softly as she leaned back, nearly missing the street lamp behind them. McCoy instinctively reached out, resting his hand against her shoulder. This time, McCoy couldn't miss the smell on her breath or the look in her eyes.

"If I stayed on the case, I wouldn't just _try_ to save him. I'd blow your case apart McCoy, have no doubt," she said with a self satisfied smirk that made McCoy chuckle. "I've seen the evidence. You're crazy if you think you're going to get a murder one conviction on some pipe tobacco and a frightened witness's photo ID."

"You're drunk,"he said incredulously.


	12. Chapter 12

"It's about time you figured that out,"she replied smugly. "So much for that razor sharp mind the press likes to write about so much."

"Besides, "she said leaning close as she audubly smelled his breath, "so are you, so don't get holier than thou on me, Mr. I Know the Defendant has Assets Because my Girlfriend Told me About Them. Thought you were pretty smart in court to day, didn't you? God you _are_ a bastard, Jack."

"You knew what kind of man I was from the start, Brooke," he said undaunted. "It didn't bother you then. Why would it now?"

"Oh _that_ doesn't both me, "she replied smoothly. "If I didn't know how to deal with an arrogant bastard, we wouldn't have lasted this long. Which reminds me, wait until you see who I've retained on Sam' s behalf. You think it was fun in arraignment today-"

"Do you think I enjoyed what I did today, "he said eyes wide in disbelief.

"I know damn well you enjoyed what you did today, "she said confidently. "You love broad siding the opposition. Whether it's me or some sleazy mob lawyer. No personal bias for Jack McCoy. The search for the truth, at all costs. You live for it, Jack. So do I. That's one of the reasons I fell in love with you."

"Is that the only reason," he challenged her, a lecherously grin on his face, as he slipped an arm around her waist. "Or is it the only reason you're willing to admit?"

Brooke ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek, as she upped the ante by moving into his arms.

"What other reason could their possibly be," she whispered as she slipped her hands under the open green jacket, passed the grey suit jacket, running them over his shirt and snickering as she felt his nipples respond to her touch. "Oh, I remember now - maybe it was you're chaste and subdued manner."

McCoy chuckled as he brought his lips down on hers, a hand moving to the back of her neck to hold her head back and keep her mouth as he wanted it, for as long as he wanted it. Caught up in the euphoria of the moment, McCoy could feel their heats racing. Deep down, he knew it would be unwise to let things go to far. Still, he couldn't help but want to show her how much he missed her, wanted her, needed her…

"Oh Jack, "he heard her moan as his hands reached under her coat, her back aching as he moved his leg between hers.

"God, how I want you, "he hissed as his mouth moved down base of her neck, quickly making his way down her cleavage.

The pair remained under the lap post. each kiss more probing and each caress more insistant. It wasn't until McCoy felt the dampness of the warm drizzle turn to a steady stream of wetness on his face, that he stepped back.

"You know we can't go back to my place, "he said reluctantly. "You're defense counsel. I'm prosecuting your husband. _The Ledger's_ sure to have a reporter staked out in front of my building. "

"I saw one," she said breathlessly.

"One what?"

"A reporter…I recognized Bradshaw from the _Daily News_."

"Where?"

"Your place," she said meeting his puzzled look.

"My place? When..?"

"After Sam left for the train station, I went to your place. Or I started to. When my cab pulled up in front of your building, I saw Carrie Bradshaw talking to your doorman. I realized what a disaster going there could have been. Even if I won't be the attorney of record when this goings to trial, I am still legally Sam's wife. And you being DA…it would look bad. Very bad, as well as cause Sam more pain he doesn't deserve-"

McCoy pursed his lips together and slipped his hands in his jacket pockets, while he looked away from her.

"Jack, don't. I'm here because this is where _I _want to be," she waited, seeing McCoy glance at her hand, then nod."I had the cabby drop me at _Flynn's._ When you didn't show, I tried your cell phone and it went right to voice mail. I figured you might be at _Clancy's_ but with all the ADA's and PD's that go in there, I figured it would be smarter try to catch you a few blocks from your place. So I'd walk a few blocks. Stop. Get a drink. Walk a few more blocks..."

McCoy stared at her alarmed and amused.

"And I thought I was the only one crazy enough to do something so reckless. I know you carry the Browning or the Derringer but-"

Brooke shook her head slowly back and forth.

"Not anymore, "she said firmly. "With Valenski dead, I am confident I am back to living with the normal threats of bodily injury and death that every ADA gets - nothing a restraining order and a can of mace can't handle. But none of that is important now."

McCoy raised his eyebrow as she took his hand and lead him in the direction of his building.

"Brooke, don't misunderstand. Right now, I'd like nothing more than to make love to you until sunrise, but didn't we just agree my place is a bad idea?"

"We're not going to your place," she said triumphantly.

"Well, unless you have a boat docked out at the Chelsea Piers, we can't get to your place. The last train left hours ago, as did the ferry-"

"I got a room," she whispered in his ear, stopping abruptly to run her tongue over it and to kiss him behind his ear until she heard a low moan as he pulled her close.

"A room? Brooke, there's still -"

"Jack - it's one a m. The desk clerk is the only one on duty and it's a small B& B with no camera's, no doorman. I have the room furthest back with a private entrance."

"You really thought this out didn't you," he said with admiration."You want to tell me what you told Sam in order-"

Brooke pressed a finger to his lips that McCoy promptly began sucking, wrapping his lips around it as his tongue pressed it into his mouth.

"Keep that up and we won't make it another block," she giggled. "No more questions until the sun comes up. I'm tired of talking."

McCoy grinned back, bemused by the sudden turn off events and about face his lover seemed to have made. While his pride demanded he press her for more, his heart and other regions south of his brain, urged him to give in to her request and enjoy the moment with no questions asked. He put his arm around her as they started to walk once more.

"All right, no more questions for now…except…"

Brooke looked up and smiled to herself. She felt condfident that she knew what was nagging at her lover's conscious.

"You want to know - don't you," she said playfully.

"You know I do."

"You promise you won't let it interfere with our immediate plans, "she asked cautiously.

"You have my word, "he responded earnestly.

She sighed and nodded.

"All right. Deal."

They walked a few more steps, McCoy finally stopped her, turning Brooke to face him.

"Tell."

"I should make you guess," she said pensively.

"But you won't, because we have a deal."

"Oh all right…,"she paused and drew him close. "You know I wouldn't have done it if I didn't know in my heart he's innocent-"

"Tell."

"Sam's new counsel is Randall Dworkin."


	13. Chapter 13

"As much as I enjoyed the last few hours, we need to talk."

Brooke ran a hand through his hair and down the line of his cheekbone, hesitant to break the spell the hours of blissful lovemaking had cast over them. She glanced at the clock and knew McCoy was right. By the time they had gone to bed it was nearly 1:30. By the time they were ready to sleep it was almost four. The clock read 6:46 and she knew although her boss had granted her time to meet with the new defense counsel, as well as time to prepare a motion to present for a change of venue in Sam Prescott's trial, she had to be up and on her way back to Long Island before the rush hour commute started in full force at eight. She also knew McCoy would have a full day scheduled and this would more than likely be the last chance they have to talk privately for some time.

"You're right, "she said regretfully. "What you want to hear first?"

"Brooke, this isn't an interrogation," McCoy said apologetically.

"I appreciate that. Listen, we agreed to plan a future together when the time was right. Just because Sam is back... Just because I need to make some decisions, I don't want you to feel pressure to be on a time table other than your own."

"Brooke, you have serious choices to make, "he said carefully. "I don't expect you to give up a marriage based on a vague promise -"

"I wouldn't," she said flatly. "I don't want you to feel you have compete with a marriage that for all practical purposes ended five years ago. You already have tried marriage twice, I don't want to pressure you into a third try. Jack, I know we don't have much time this morning. Honestly, we won't have much time until this trial is over. But, when I stop and think about it...about how we felt before the last few days... When it was just us and what we wanted. I was happy and our promise meant everything to me. Why should that change overnight?"

"Because we never would have had the chance to make promises if your marriage had continued, "he said frankly. "Be honest if not with me, with yourself. When you found out Sam was back you had what you thought you'd never have and you wanted it. You wanted him. It's only natural-"

"I admit, there's an attraction. More than that. I do love him, "she said, taking McCoy's hand. "When I think about the life Sam and I had… it confuses me. I think I'll always love him, Jack. But, when I think of a life without you…when I saw you standing across the aisle in that courtroom yesterday... I could feel the connection between us, even with Sam was standing right there beside me. I don't want to lose you."

McCoy sighed as he held her against him.

"No chance of that. You'll have me as long as you want me,"he assured her. "But, it won't be easy. You've talked to an attorney all ready. Do you honestly see yourself divorcing him? Going into a courtroom and accusing him of desertion? Dividing your assets? I've done it and I can tell you it's not a fun thing to go through, Brooke."

Brooke laughed as she began to rub his left shoulder.

"Well, I don't see myself remaining Mrs. Sam Prescott and to sleeping with you. Too be honest, even if I saw it, I never got the idea you liked to share."

"That's perceptive of you, "he said with chuckle. "You know, after the last marriage fell apart…after the formidable Ms. Goodwin cleaned my clock in part ten…I said I'd never do it again. I'd never get married again."

Brooke nodded in agreement.

"That never surprised me, Jack. I'm sure you didn't marry either time on a whim. I'm sure you thought 'I do' meant forever. So did I."

McCoy kissed the fingers that rested on his shoulder and pulled her into a reassuring embrace.

"If I was going to say 'I do' again, I'd you would be the woman I say it to. I do love you, Brooke. But, you know no matter how I feel about you, I have to move this case in the direction the evidence takes it. You know this is nothing personal..not some rivalry -"

"I know that - but the press will play it that way, "she countered. "Which is why I wanted to see you last night, before things really get out of hand. I will fight like hell to get venue changed, but when all is said and done you and I know this case is going to end up staying in New York county. Even if you assign it to Carver, or Cutter, or any other EADA, the press is going to play up our relationship. It could kill your chances of being re-elected next year."

"Brooke, I don't even know if I'm going to run-"

"Of course you will, "she said impatiently. "Jack what do you think? You'll step aside and go back to being an EADA under another DA? Not likely. You'll retire and lecture out at NYU? Never - you all ready feel antsy being out of the courtroom most of the time - academia would kill you. No, you'll want to run and I can't let this get in the way. That's why we can't see each other until this is resolved."

"You think you know me better than I know myself," he scoffed.

"I think I know myself well enough to know if I'm right next year and you lose the party's support because of me, I won't be able to live with it," she paused and smiled knowingly. "Besides, since Sam is an innocent man, I'm sure once your people at the 2 7 turn up more evidence things will resolve themselves."

McCoy smiled as she studied her face.

"You're putting a lot of faith into Detectives Green and Logan. Remeber, they are the ones that found enough evidence to get an arrest warrant for Sam to start with."

"Unfortunate set back, "she replied with resolve. "Besides, even if the detectives fail me, I know Randy Dworkin won't."

McCoy groaned as he fell back on the mattress as he pulled the sheet over his head.

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"The solution seems clear to me, your honor."

Judge Lena Petrovsky glared at defense counsel. After nearly two hours of listening to an ADA representing Suffolk county, the DA of New York county, a Federal Prosecutor AND one of the most flamboyant, if not brilliant defensive lawyers on the east coast, all treating the case of _People v Prescott _as if it were the prize bone in a dog fight, the judge had had her fill of banter and second guessing.

"Really, Mr. Dworkin," she said not bothering to hide her annoyance. "Pray tell, enlighten us with your special brand of wisdom."

Jack McCoy bit his lip, as the two women sharing the prosecutor's table with him lowered their eyes. Randy Dworkin took note as he looked at Judge Petrovsky with wounded eyes, as he launched into his barrage of words.

"I hesitate to say this, given how valuable the court's time is and knowing how anxious we all are to hear your ruling, Judge Petrovsky. But, do I detect a note of sarcasm in her honor's voice? I ask, because if I do, I must insist her honor either apologize to my client, or disqualify herself from this case in order that my client will be ensured of his right to an impartial and I might add-"

"Enough," Petrovsky snapped. "Mr. Prescott, I apologize. Mr. Dworkin, you have two minutes - no more!"

"Thank you, your honor," the deceptively ordinary looking man replied as he moved from the defense table towards the bench. "As I said, the solution seem clear. This case, has no grounds to be being tried in Suffolk county - in spite of the the five hundred miles rule that the able prosecutor from Suffolk county will argue applies in this case. Even if it did," Dworkin said with a flourish turning towards where Brooke Prescott stood beside Jack McCoy." although Mrs. Prescott believes she is acting with the best of intentions and the purest of motives, how can this court allow this case to be tried in a jurisdiction where my client's current wife who - no offense intended to either Mrs. Prescott or Mr. McCoy - is also romantically linked the New York county district attorney-"

"Your honor, venue has nothing to do with the personalities present-"began Brooke.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Prescott but I must disagree," Dworkin continued, his client leaning back in his chai and obviously enjoying the side show atmosphere Dworkin was creating. "Venue has everything to do with the personalities here today. It's common knowledge Mr. McCoy and Mrs. Prescott have been involved romantically for over a year - albeit long before her husband made it known to her he was indeed alive.

"Mr. McCoy is a powerful man - which by the way," he said turning to McCoy. "Makes me wonder why a busy man such as the New York county DA found the time to be in arraignment court when my client was arraigned, as well as is here today handling a change in venue motion any first year ADA could handle? Doesn't that speak to the fact the New York County DA's office is already prejudiced against my client?"

"As I explained earlier, EADA Cutter will be overseeing this case, "McCoy retorted, "because of the gravity of the charges against a fellow officer of the court. However, until Mr. Cutter finishes closing arguments in Part 65, I will be overseeing the change of venue matter. Whether it's myself or -"

"And what of the former widow Prescott," Dworkin continued undaunted. "Surely, no one can expect my client to get a fair trial from an office that is not only personally connected to a woman who has much to gain by my client going to jail-"

"Your honor Mr. Dworkin is out of line-"McCoy interjected, suprised Brooke herself hadn't voiced her own objections.

Suddenly McCoy noticed how quiet Brooke had become, as well as how passive the defendant seemed.

"Agreed, Mr. McCoy, "Judge Petrovsky said.

"I apologize, your honor-"

"Your honor," Carmichael started, cutting off Dworkin before he could continue his tirade. "It is because of these highly prejudicial reasons, as well as the fact the death of Vladimir Valenski effects several of the state attorney's ongoing investigations, that my office believes this case should be heard in federal court, under our jurisdiction-"

"Judge Petrovsky, did you or did you not give me two minutes, that Ms. Carmichael and Mr. McCoy have rudely taken part of," Dworkin scolded.

"Ten seconds counselor, "the judge snapped. "and everyone else stay still - I'd like to rule before Easter!"

"Simply put your honor, neither Mr. McCoy office nor Mrs. Prescott's can remain unbiased towards my client. As for the state attorney - well - I think it's obvious to all involved, the reason why that's unacceptable-"

"You said you had a solution, Mr. Dworkin?"

"Yes," he said firmly as he returned to his client, patting Sam Prescott on the shoulder."My solution is this: Let the man go home, do not be tricked by insignificant hocus pocus like witness statements and forensics into putting an innocent man on trial."

Petrovsky looked at the group of prosecutors exasperated, before turning back to Dworkin.

"Sit down, Mr. Dworkin," she said with open disgust.

"Your honor, "McCoy said evenly. "I would like to remind the court, Vladimir Valenski, the victim in this case was a resident of Manhattan. I would also like to remind the court the crime in this case was committed in Manhattan, as well. These are the simple, but most important facts you need to consider.

"Attempts by others to distract you from these simple facts, only serves to promote agenda's that have nothing to do with justice. As for any personal considerations by my office, I won't be sitting on the jury. I won't be deciding Mr. Prescott's guilt or innocence, twelve citizens of New York county will. My office will simply present the evidence and if Mr. Dworkin thinks my office has manufactured evidence, I would be the first one to say, file charges."

Carmichael and Brooke exchange defeated glances, as did Prescott and Dworkin.

"Thank you . All of you. I will give you my ruling after lunch. We're adjoined until one o'clock," Petrovsky said as her gavel hit the bench.

"Where did you find that lunatic," Carmichael quietly asked Brooke as the court room emptied.

"I did a little reseach on opossing counsel in some of Jack's more prominant cases,"she replied with a faint smile as she met McCoy's no nonsense glare.

"Going to fight like hell to get the venue changed, were you," McCoy said repeating Brookes words from the last time they were alone. " You just neglected to tell me, it wouldn't be your _own_ venue you'd be fighting for."

Brooke shrugged her shoulders as Dworkin and Prescott joined the group.

"What are you complaining about, McCoy? You managed to get in the last word," she replied provocatively. "You know how much that excites you."

McCoy snickered in spite of himself as he turned away, finding himself meeting Sam Prescott's inquiring gaze.

"Good to see you all enjoyin' yourselves," Prescott remarked easily as he slipped an arm around his wife's waist.

"Jack, always a pleasure to see you on the other side of the aisle," Dworkin said noting the sudden tension as he extended his hand. " Haven't had a chance to offer my congratulations since you became DA. Congratulations!"

McCoy nodded as he shook Dworkin's hand and turned to Carmichael.

"Abbie, if you have a minute, I'd like to talk to you about the Clemens case," he said as he took her arm.

Once away from the group, Carmichael looked up at her former boss and waited.

"Don't say it - I know I owe you," McCoy said the elevator doors opened.

"Jack, what are you going to do if Judge Petrovsky leaves the case in your hands," Carmichael asked as the doors closed, leaving the pair alone. " I mean it's one thing to make up a case to avoid watching Sam and Brooke together at a motion hearing, it's going to be another-"

"Abbie, I'm hardly a jealous school boy," McCoy replied. "The reason I wanted to leave was because I have to know, after what Dworkin orchestrated today, if this case goes to federal court… What has your office instructed you to do? Will you go forward with what Green and Logan have on Prescott?"

Carmichael waited until they were walking down the courthouse steps to respond.

"My instructions are to drop the charges, with leave to re-file, after my office reviews the evidence. But this conversation never happened."

McCoy shook his head in disgust.

"And apparently, neither did the murder of Vladimir Valenski."


	14. Chapter 14

As she stared at the afternoon trafic from the courthouse steps, Brooke Prescott's mentally shifted through the events of the morning. to the excitement she had felt all morning as she stood beside her lover after a little more than a week since she'd last seen him. The annoyance she had felt when she left the courtroom was qucikly forgotten once Prescott and Dworkin went in search of lunch, leaving Brooke alone with her thoughts. It had been two week since the last time she and McCoy had been in contact. The excitement not only seeing him, but spending the morning close enough to occasionally catch a whiff of his after shave, had made her almost lighheaded.

Verbally sparing with Jack McCoy in open court was almost as passion filled as being made love to by him. This made for a pleasant distraction while Brooke deliberately attempted to reinforce the arguments Dworkin and Carmichael had made regarding taking Prescott's case out of her lover's jurisdiction. She knew it was a thin line she was riding - her own boss would fire her on the spot it he ever found out the game of Russian roulette she was playing with her own ethics - but that was the least of her worries.

She knew how good McCoy was at building cases. She knew how thorough Ed Green was in his investigations. But she also knew the system did fail from time to time and that innocence people had been convicted on less evidence than the prosecution had on Sam Prescott . She knew a change in venue to federal court would buy precious time to establish what she already knew: Brooke was sure the man she had married could have not killed Vladimir Valenski or anyone else.

"Hey darlin', brought you back a salad from that Greek place Randy took me to, but when I saw this, I tossed the salad."

Brooke looked up as Sam Prescott sat down beside her and handed her the foot long Frankfurter.

"Thanks,' she said as she bit into the hot dog. "Hum. You remembered the mayo - perfect!"

"'Course I did," he said with mock indignation. "There are just some things a man doesn't forget about his wife, even if …"

"Even if?"

"Even if it's clear she doesn't want to be his wife anymore."

"Sam, I thought we agreed -"

Prescott held up a hand.

"Actually, you said we'll talk about the future after I'm found innocent. I just didn't put up a fuss," he said solemnly. "But I'm not blind, Mal. I know you. The only reason you didn't smack me upside the head in that courtroom was because you know, he knows, you want him."

"Don't do this - not when you stand accused of murder. I didn't smack you because both of us acting like twelve year olds wasn't going to serve any purpose. Besides, just because I didn't smack you then, doesn't mean I can't smack you now, "she said as her fist made contact with his forearm arm. "Now grow up and don't do it again or it won't just be you up on murder charges."

Prescott chuckled as he gave her a mock salute.

"Yes, ma'am. You know, you haven't even asked. After five years, you would have a right to wonder."

Brooke tilted her head as she finished the hot dog. Once she swallowed she shrugged her shoulders.

"About other women? I figured you'd get around to telling me in your own good time. Besides, I'm hardly in a position-"

"No, " he said impatiently shaking his head. "Although, I s'posse we should talk about that, as well. No, I meant you haven't asked me if I did it. If I killed Valenski. Given that you're riskin' your career with this change of venue nonsense-"

"Waste of time to ask questions I all ready know the answers to," she said as she wiped her mouth, stuffing the napkin in the pocket of her jacket. "As for my lack ofzealousness… I'm distracted. My husband just returned from the dead. Although, if the truth be told, I think Michael went along with me being the one to go before Judge Petrovsky because he knew it was a lost cause anyway. Maybe he thought having your wife present the argument would buy the county some amount of sympathy…I don't know. It really comes down to Manhattan or the Feds."

"I agree. Have to give it to Randy. He really had ol Jack on the run their for a bit,"Prescott said bluntly."But when all is said and done, if Petrovsky's been paying attention, there's only one way she can rule and that means the man that took my wife will be fightin' to take my freedom as well. Doesn't get more ironic than that, does it?"

"'Took' your wife-," she began incensed.

"All right kids before we head in, maybe it's time for a inpromptue strategy session," Randy Dworkin said as he bent down to join the pair.

"'Cuse me Randy," Prescott inquired. "Wouldn't it make more sense to plan strategy when we know which prosecutor is gonna be prosecutin' me?"

"Under normal circumstances, you'd be right, Sam. But given the fact we all know this case is going to stay in New York county, maybe we better just cut to the chase. Now Brooke," Dworkin said focusing on her."You could be very useful in the rattling McCoy's chain - especially if he decides to stay on and actively prosecute. During opening statements, I want you to be in the court room, sitting behind Jack."

Brooke exchanged glances with her husband, who knew his wife well enough to know what was coming. Giving Dworkin a slight bow, he took a step upward.

"Randy I'm gonna excuse myself. If you're able to make it the courtroom after your spanking, I'll see you there."

Dworkin gave Brooke a sideways glance and stepped back as she stood.

"Can I say one thing?"

Brooke smiled as her eyes widen.

"One thing like a_ normal_ person or one thing like Randy Dworkin?"

"Touché. I'll be brief. Do you want to keep Sam out of prison?"

"You know I do."

"Then, I need your full support Brooke. You've seen the evidence. Innocent or not-"

"I've seen traces of a pipe tobacco found at the scene that Sam and several thousand other men in New York state favor. I saw a ID from a photo array of men who looked so much alike _I_ could be sure which guy was Sam. We have a victim that made more enemies from prison than he did when he was on the outside, "she snapped. "Once Green and Logan finish there investigation-"

"Brooke, you're thinking like a prosecutor. I'm a defense attorney. I've seen Jack convict people on less than he has on Sam."

"Those people were guilty and you know it Randy. I've read the cases you tried against Jack. I hired you because you can take straw and make silk out of it. I also hired you because you'll throw Jack off his game enough to buy Sam time to prove his innocence."

"Then _help me_ throw him off his game," Dworkin urged. "Do you think I like airing your personal business in a courtroom? That I'm unaware of effect its has on my client - your husband?"

Brooke shook her head as they moved towards the top of the stairs.

"If was one thing to play games in a venue hearing, Randy. It's another to sit in a trial and imply silently imply Jack McCoy wants to jail an innocent man in order to sleep with his wife. You know it won't just effect the trail. It will finish Jack politically - as well as blow apart his relationship with his daughter-"

"Brooke, it's not my job to care about those things. My job is to do whatever I can, within the law, to plant reasonable doubt in the juries mind," he said firmly. "Sam has no solid alibi for the night of the shooting. The body was found Wednesday afternoon. The amount of water in the lungs indicates Valenski was shot sometime between ten pm Tuesday and two am Wednesday morning. Sam left you and McCoy at_ Gino's _around nine. You said he had planned to take the ferry back to Long Island. Unfortunately, he didn't keep his ferry stub - even if he had - anyone can buy a ticket and not get on the ferry."

"True, but he did stop in at _Flynn's_ in Ocean Beach, before taking the last ferry from Fire Island to Islip, "she reminded him. "The bartender remembers him paying his tab just before one. That-"

"Isn't enough. Listen, whatever is going on between you and Sam, or you and Jack, is none of my business," Dworkin as frankly as he opened the door to the courthouse. "But winning this case is. You're going to have to decide just how high a cost you are willing to pay to either keep Sam out of jail or keep Jack in your life."

Brooke's eyes blazed at him as she opened her mouth to respond.

"My integrity isn't for sale Mr. Dworkin."

Dworkin nodded as he held up a hand.

"Never met to say it was. But the appearance of having that integrity, went out the window the moment Sam found you in _Gino's_ with Jack McCoy the night of the murder. Sam and the reporter for _The Ledger_. Now it's just a question of whether you'll let me spin the damage to make that silk you mentioned."


	15. Chapter 15

"Shouldn't you be on your way home to Lillian,"McCoy asked as New York's newest Senator sat across from him. "If you're here to tell me I need to hand the Prescott case over to the Feds before I committ political suicide, the mayor already beat you to it."

Arthur Branch stole a French fry off the plate that sat beside a full glass of scotch.

"I don't which is worse, Jack. You prosecuting the man that put the thugs that killed Toni Ricci away, or you sitting in a dive like _Clancy's _were any reporter worth his salt could check your bar tab and see that you're damn near three sheets to the wind. A nice how do you do that would make in addition to -"

"Where would you suggest I do my drinking Arthur? I would have stayed at the office, but I've been with the mayor most of the day and this is the first chance I've had to eat. You know delivery personnel can't go upstairs after eight,"McCoy retorted as he pushed the plate to the center of the table.

Branch nodded as he reached for another fry.

"I would suggest, "Branch started in a hushed tone, stopping as the bartender joined them at the table. After ordering a bourbon and branch he continued. "I would suggest you start thinking like a DA, instead of a prosecutor."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning unless you are 100 percent sure you're handling this case without any personal bias, that this case is strong enough to withstand the public scrutiny you're going to receive, cut a deal and move on."

"You know I can't discuss the case with you,"McCoy said as the bartender left Branch's drink. "But you also know I wouldn't prosecute a case unless I thought the evidence was solid. Besides, you're forgetting, innocent men rarely deal."

"And where exactly does that leave you and _Mrs_. Prescott, "Branch said as he picked up his drink.

"On opposite sides of the courtroom. We haven't spoken since the venue hearing two weeks ago."

"Come on Jack, all that means is neither one of you want to have your relationship dissected on _The Conan O'Brien Show _for another month. You two aren't babes in the woods, when it comes to the press," Branch said knowingly. "No divorce papers have been filed. I assume that means old Sam Prescott came home expecting things to go back to the way they were?"

McCoy shook his head as he sipped at the scotch. McCoy had suspected Branch's true reason for joining him. He was aware that Branch and Sam Prescott had become good friends when Prescott had been with the State's Attorney's office, years before his 'death'. Such good friends that Arthur had attended Brooke and Sam's wedding almost fourteen years before.

"Maybe you should ask Conan, Arthur," McCoy retorted. "Obviously it's not just the ignorant masses that are tuning in. If Prescott sent you down here to find out what I know about Brooke's plans for after the trial, you need to tell him to talk to his wife. First of all, I wouldn't tell you, if knew. Second of all, as I said before, we _haven't _been in contact."

Branch frowned uncomfortably.

"Jack you know I'm not one to tell tales out of school and I'm certainly not anyone's errand boy,"he said bluntly. "I'm here on my own. All three of you are friends. I hate like hell for any of you be going through this. You're sure you can't find a way to make the charges go away?"

"What are my options? I drop the case, it looks like I'm being influenced by Brooke to spare her husband. I try the case, I look like some kind of gigolo trying to convict his lover's husband for my own gain. Besides, no matter who the defendant is, the evidence warrants a trial."

"You have a point, "Branch conceded. "A rock and a hard place. But tell me, Jack - where does justice fit in?"

McCoy looked up from his drink, amused.

"Justice? Arthur, weren't you the one that used to say justice came in as many flavors as a bag of jolly ranchers?"

"I never said anything like that, "Branch sputtered in amazement.

"Well, maybe you _should_ have, "McCoy said with a roguish smile.

"Seriously, Jack - without violating any ethical codes. How does the case look? Do you really think Sam killed that man?"

"Based on the evidence I've seen - it's possible. Am I sure beyond a reasonable doubt? That's for a jury to decide, not me."

"Personally Jack, off the record. Do you think Sam Prescott is a cold blooded murderer?"

McCoy pulled out his wallet.

"Personally, Arthur? Personally, I have to take a case where the evidence leads me, which means there isn't supposed to be a personally," he said setting some money on the table as he stood.

"Jack, Brooke's living with the man. If you think he killed Valenski - don't try and tell me it doesn't bother you that she could be living with -"

McCoy looked at Branch long and hard.

Branch knew how McCoy had reacted when those responsible for Alex Borgia murder where put briefly in his hands. Branch had also heard how McCoy had handled the trial of Claire Kincaid's killer. Branch knew McCoy well enough to know how he would react to another woman he cared about being in possible danger, and McCoy _knew_ he knew.

"You'll catch more in the Hudson than you will here, Arthur," McCoy responded gruffly. "Stop fishing."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"Is the parade over for the night or should I go back to my office before the next entry arrives,"her assistant asked, refering to the stream of suited men that had been in and out of Brooke's office most of the day.

Brooke motioned for Jake Cohen to come in, not looking up from the file in she was reading.

"Close the door, "she added as Cohenbegan rifling through the stack of files in the tray on her desk.

"Looking for something or just digging up dirt like everybody else,"she asked turning a page.

"Chan deposition - need it for the pre trial packet, "Cohen said.

"Try the top of the file drawer.'

Cohen started to turn away from the desk, stopping as his eyes fell on the manila envelope with are return address label for Fontana & Jeffries Investigations. Cohen picked it up. He opened his mouth to speak, stopping again, as he found yet another surprising addition underneath it.

"Ah, not enough work from Jackowicz - now you're hiring out for it?"

"What, "she said looking up from the file irritably. Seeing the manila envelope in his hand, Brooke swore impatiently, as she motioned for him to sit."You don't have enough work yourself, Cohen? Enough spare time on your hands to go through my desk -"

"Hey, I came in here for Chan. I just told you that! You want to tell why you have information from not only a PI firm on your desk, but a realtor _and_ a civil firm? Had enough of the insanity so you're going to just take off and start a new life? If that's the plan, why not just call the Feds? I'm sure they'd jump at the chance to put you and Sam back in witness protection-"

"Shut the hell up, Jake,"she said slamming the file down, as she threw her glasses down in frustration.

Cohen stared at his best friend in dismay, waiting for the apology he knew would follow.

Brooke sighed heavily as she leaned back, rubbing her eyes.

"I'm an idiot, Jake. I'm sorry. Trial starts tomorrow and Green and Logan still haven't come up with anything that would point to a new suspect. I got a notice from the life insurance company that paid Sam's death benefits.. They want their money back - surprise, surprise. Which of course I can't give them right now, because I can't borrow against the house, because the house has a lien against it by the bail bondsman until the trail is over. Oh, and did I forget to tell you ? Dworkin thinks I should file for divorce_ now_ instead of after the trial, so the media can use it to paint Sam as the victim in the sordid affair between his wife and the DA," Brooke paused as she opened her eyes and reached into her bottom drawer. "And the _worst_ part is all I have in my bottom drawer is a damn bottle of hot Perrier, to drown my sorrows in."

Cohen's expression softened as he came around to Brooke's side of the desk and squeezed her shoulders.

"I can't fix much, but I can fix this,"he said taking the green bottle and crossing to the mini fridge across the room. "So where does the realtor come in?"

"Appraisal. House is probably going to have to go on the market after the trial. I could borrow against it - it's worth twice the pay out the insurance company made - but I'd still be starting a new mortgage to pay the money back. We'll have split the assets anyway, when we get around to the divorce, so it just makes sense-"

"Sam expects you to sell the house and give him half, "Cohen asked incredulously as he handed her a paper cup contain the soda water and some ice.

Brooke shook her head as she took a drink.

"I haven't discussed it with Sam."

"Ah, _why_? I doubt if he'd want you to lose the house. Besides, if he knows you want a divorce-"

"Come on Jake, He comes home and all hell breaks loose. The man's on trial for murder. I can't dump more on him now."

"Brooke, are saying you haven't discussed _any_ of this with Sam? The insurance, the house, the divorce, "Cohen sank back down in a chair shaking his head. "What does Jack say?"

Brooke set her jaw and looked at him as if he'd lost his mind.

"Oh it's like that. After almost fourteen years Brooke Malinowski is back, "he said sarcastically.

"What the hell does that mean,"she snapped.

"That means I remember how you were before you let Sam get close to you. Everything on your shoulders, never willing to admit you were in over your head-"

"Not the same thing," she said stubbornly."You know I never go for guys with cash. I doubt Jack _or_ Sam has hundreds of thousands dollars just sitting in the bank for a rainy day. As for the rest, Sam knows I'm not ready to be his wife again. The fact he's sleeping in the guest room, is a big clue. Serving him with divorce papers now, no matter what Randy Dworkin thinks, is the last thing Sam needs to deal with in the middle of this mess.

"As for Jack, I don't need his Irish Catholic guilt over the lien and you know any contact between us is going to be twisted by the media. That's why I told Randy no way was I going to be in the courtroom."

"Wow, "Cohen said softly."Dare I ask where Fontana and Jeffries Investigations fit in?"

Brooke picked up the file she had thrown down and handed it to Cohen.

"I called Lt. Van Buren last week. After a polite but firm recitation of department rules during an ongoing investigation, I called Joe Fontana. I figured since he and Ed Green used to be partners, maybe he could get me some answers, off the record," Brooke paused as she stifled a yawn."Joe had his concerns about taking the case on, but I assured him whatever he found I would accept - even it incriminated Sam. So, he talked to Logan and Green, as well as starting his own investigation."

Cohen nodded as he scanned the report Fontana had written.

"Looks like everything Dworkin told you about the information Jack gave him during discovery. They still haven't found a gun?"

Brooke shook her head.

"Nope and Sam hasn't found the one he bought in Tulsa," she said flatly.

"When does he remember seeing it last?"

Brooke let out hearty laugh, partly due to the lateness of the hour, partly due to the question itself.

"Jake, we're talking about a_ gun_ here," she said trying to catch her breath, "not a missing retainer."

Cohen smiled as well, pleased to hear a sound he'd missed over the course of the last several weeks.

"What I meant was, he came back home with the gun. You saw it the night Fontana and the sheriff were out. When did he realize it was gone?"

"Sam went to get it when Detective Logan asked if he had a 45. Colt. When he went to the hardware store - the day before he was arrested - he left it at the house. Got back, figured it was in the bedroom safe where he'd left it. When I got home he knew I had my Browning - even saw it on the entry when he came down from fixing the hinge on the bedroom door - so he left the Colt in the safe. You know Sam was never much for guns anyway. He didn't start carrying until he went into witness protection. Anyway, when Logan asked if he had a Colt .45, Sam checked the safe and it was gone."

"I'm sure the police loved that."

"Oh yeah - you should have seen the look Logan gave Green when Sam told him, "Brooke said dryly. " I suspect that Logan can be a handful. That's probably why Green gave him a nudge when he saw me watching. Green knows me well enough to know I'd of had Logan up a harassment charges if he hadn't played it by the book with Sam."

"Big bad prosecutor, "Cohen grinned turning to the last page of the report."Come on Brooke. If you were prosecuting this case, if it wasn't the man you married-"

"I'd be sold I had enough to convict," she said flatly."I know Logan and Green were just doing their jobs. Jack has no choice here, as well. But I also know, in spite of the old 'gee I can't find my gun' story, Sam didn't do this. It's that simple. Besides, it's not like Valenski didn't have other enemies. Even from the inside, the man ran the majority of the heroin trade for the state. I'm sure his fellow drug lords were _thrilled_ he d be back, ready to move into thier terr-"

"Did you see this, "Cohen interrupted, as he came back to her side of the desk and showed her the last page of Fontana's report."Look at the list of Valenski's visitors, the last week before the appeal came through."


	16. Chapter 16

"Come on Ed," Mike Logan complained to his temporary partner. "If this guy wasn't some hot shot federal prosecutor, Van Buren would have closed this investigation down weeks ago and I'd be back in Major Cases."

Green gave Logan a stern look as they walked from the elevator to towards Jack McCoy's office.

"What happened Logan,"Green joked, "walk a beat in Staten Island for a few years and suddenly you're too good to work a homicide case with the 2 7?"

"It was more than a few years and you know I'd come back to the 2 7 in a heat beat,"Logan countered."I just don't like wasting my time. We've been over the evidence more times than I reviewed for the detectives exam. There are other cases out there, Ed. Cases that don't involve sticking it to a guy that put key members of the Five Families in Sing Sing...justice, what a joke."

"If I were you, I wouldn't let McCoy hear you say that," Green warned.

"Oh really,"Logan remarked as they approached the desk where the DA's personal assistant sat. "I thought Van Buren called the shots - not the DA - on a homicide investigation. Man, DA? Jack McCoy? Who'd of thought?"

Green handed the grey haired woman his card and confirmed they had an appointment with the District Attorney. She woman nodded and took them into the office, explaining McCoy was in a meeting with the EADA for SVU and would return momentarily. After showing them where McCoy kept the coffee, she turned and left them alone in McCoy's office.

Logan looked around the office, noting the model sail boat in the cabinet behind the desk, as Green poured himself some coffee,

Logan gave a low whistle as the read the name plate on the desk. He shook his head as he turned the framed picture that rested beside the name plate towards him.

"It must be love. McCoy didn't even put Claire's picture on the desk for all the world to see."

Green sighed. Van Buren had mentioned ADA Claire Kincaid enough times for him to know who Logan was talking about and why. His boss had also made Green aware that Logan and McCoy had not always seen eye to eye professionally over the years. Logan continued to look at the picture of McCoy, his daughter, and Brooke. The three of them were dressed for fishing. McCoy stood between the two women holding a large bluegill, the two women proudly grinning at McCoy.

"Well, who could blame him," Logan continued. "She_ is_ gorgeous. Too bad she's married."

"Damn Mike, why don't you settle down before McCoy shows up,"Green said in frustration. "You know the trail started today. If he wants an update, there must be a reason-"

"We both know what that reason is, "Logan said putting the picture back as it had been. "Face it Ed, the only reason McCoy wants those visits reviewed is because three weeks is too long for a guy like McCoy have to sneak around to see his married girlfriend-"

"Detective Green, I'd like a word with Detective Logan. Alone."

Green grimaced as he looked as his partner, before turning to find Jack McCoy standing in the door way of his office.

"Now Jack, there's no-"Green began.

"Go on Ed," Logan interjected. "I have no problem talking to the DA here."

Green shot Logan a dagger look as he walked passed McCoy to the outer office.

"You have something to say, McCoy?"

McCoy moved to within inches of Logan's face, the men eye to eye.

"Continue displaying your unprofessional attitude detective, and you'll find yourself walking a beat in Staten Island. _This time_ until you're ready for retirement. This is a murder investigation. If you have a problem with the information this office asks for, go through the chain of command and talk to Lt. Van Buren."

Logan stared at McCoy, noting the man's clenched fists and fighting stance in his posture.

"It's a waste of time to talk to Manny Lefante - he's a small time dealer. Probably went to see Valenski to-"

"He's a member of a rival crime family and should have been looked at earlier in the investigation,"McCoy said, wishing Lennie Briscoe where there to muzzle his former partner.

When McCoy had received the late night phone call from Suffolk county ADA Jake Cohen, he had been ambivient. While always pleased to hear when a new lead had developed on any case he was involved in, McCoy preferred to hear of such developments from the detectives on workng the case, rather than a prosecutor from another jurisdiction.

"Anything else," Logan asked through clenched teeth.

"On the record - no, "McCoy said his facial express changing from controlled rage to open hostility."Off the record? Spare me anymore of the crap that's floating around in what you use for a brain. The next time I hear anything like what heard today, will be the last time you say anything, for a very long time."

Logan started to reply, confident McCoy was too smart to cross over the line and put his hands on anyone, especially a cop. That was Logan weakness, not McCoy's. At least not the McCoy Logan knew from his days in homicide. Logan stopped short, seeing something in the other man's eyes that told him _this time,_ McCoy wasn't interested in being smart.

"Maybe I was out of line," Logan said with a sigh."Listen, Ed and I have been over this stuff a dozen time since you called this morning. One of Ed's old drug informants has put the word out on the street that he needs to find Lefante. Once he calls in, we can move."

McCoy stepped back, out of the other mans space.

"Good, that's a start, "McCoy said moving towards the door.

"A start - is there something _else_ you think we've missed?"

McCoy shot him a irritated glare as he motioned for Green to rejoin them.

"I'd like to know what exactly Sam Prescott was doing in Tulsa before his return to New York."

"Jack," Green began. "We've been in touch with the Tulsa police. Everything Prescott says pans out. Opened up a carpentry business in 2005, bought the .45 shortly after his move-"

"Why was he buying a gun then? Why not when he first went into hiding? The danger was much higher then. If not then, why at all? Why three years later?"

"Why not ask him when he takes the stand, "Logan interjected.

"I don't like surprises on the stand,"McCoy countered."Especially with someone like Randy Dworkin ready to pounce."

"Jack, we can retrace Prescott's movements, but we can get into the man's head," Green replied.

McCoy nodded in agreement.

"Maybe you can't but I know someone who can,"McCoy said removing a business card from his coat pocket and handing it to Green.

Green looked down at the card and shook his head.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"I don't know why you don't just come back on the force."

Joe Fontana looked up from his cup of espresso and into the eyes of his former partner. Fontana glanced across the hall. He could see his business partner, former SVU detective Monique Jefferies, who was on the phone in her office.

"No offense Ed, but Monique is a lot easier on the eyes during a stake out than you are, "the former homicide detective said with a chuckle. "Besides, with clients like McCoy and the Prescott's, I'm making triple the money with half the work."

"So what can you tell me about your investigation for the Prescott's?"

"Well, if McCoy hadn't sent you with a subpoena for the records-"

"But he did. One signed by Judge Bradley no less, so don't even think about trying to get it squashed, Joe."

Fontana nodded. He had known when he saw the signature on the subpoena it wasn't a 'midnight hour end run around the constitution' type of order. Fontana got up from the antique desk and moved to the file drawer across the room.

"While I'm up can I get you another croissant?"

Green shook his head as he took in the office. Tastefully decorated, the office looked more stylish than the office of even the most prestigious westside lawyer's office Green had ever visited. Joe Fontana's office over looked the lake in Central Park West. It was a far cry from the 2 7 and the desk that had gone through detective after detective since before Green was born.

"All right, Ed. Let's have a look," Fontana said grabbing his reading glasses off the desk."By the way, exactly how did you know the Prescott's had hired me to look into the shooting?"

"McCoy figured the Misses wasn't just sitting around twiddling her thumbs. Figured she'd would hire someone she trusted. Someone whose work she was familiar with."

"Well, Jack knows Brooke, that's not in dispute. But it could have gone the other way," Fontana said as he looked up from the file. "I know she went to _Pinkerton's_ Long Island office first. She called me when she found out their guys were willing to doctor their report to help Prescott out."

"I'd think that would be good news for her, Joe."

"Nah - they both want straight facts - a clear shot at proving he's innocent. After that, she figured any agency Prescott had dealt with as a federal prosecutor would be tainted and Jack would rip apart anything that came from the reports. From what I've learned the guy walked on water after he convicted Toni Ricci's killers. Hard to image, after everything he went through, he'd risk it all for revenge."

"Yeah, well it wouldn't be the first time we saw a good guy go bad,"Green said bluntly. "Speaking of what Prescott's been through, McCoy wants whatever background you have on him."

"I figured as much. Here goes, "Fontana said handing Green some documents."There's a list of the alias Prescott used in witness protection, his financials from his time in Tulsa…"

"Yeah, Tulsa PD was able to fax this to us along with the receipt from the gun shop he used to buy the .45. Joe, you've talked to the man. Why the gun in 2005? Why bring it with him when he drove into New York?"

"Ed, the guy thought not only his life was in danger, but the life of his wife. Of course he armed himself. If it had been me, I'd of come back with a AK47 and wiped out the whole damn Valenski family."

Green stared at his partner, knowing better that to question him. Fontana had always had a reputation for saying what he meant, without regard to political correctness or the approval of those hearing it.

"But why the gun three years after witness protection," Green pushed.

"I asked him the same thing. His motives weren't sinister Ed."

"Then let's hear them."

Fontana sighed, knowing the delicateness of the situation, especially given the people involved.

"Joe, come on," Green said sensing his apprehension."This is a murder investigation. You know better than anyone how things that seem insignificant can turn a case - may be even help a defendant."

Fontana nodded as he handed Green the file.

"Right, right. This is the initial interview I had with Sam. There are things in here I omitted from the report I gave his wife."

Green scanned the pages looking back at Fontana.

"Brooke Prescott hasn't seen this?"

"No and I don't want her to. Not unless it leads you to Valenski's killer. Neither one of them need to added grief right now. Prescott will tell her when the time is right."

"According to this Prescott bought the gun after seeing a member of Esparza crime family in Tulsa - thought he might have been made. That doesn't seem like something his wife would have a problem with."

Fontana sighed reaching over and turning the page.

"Keep reading, Ed. He thought he'd been made before. This time was different. This time he wasn't alone."


	17. Chapter 17

McCoy set the file back on his desk and turned to look out at the mid morning sun coming through his office window. He knew where the information Green had uncovered could lead. He also knew if he brought it to the attention Michael Cutter, the EADA second chairing for him on the Prescott case, there would a heated debate about continuing. Not that McCoy himself didn't reservations, but if the prosecution failed to proceed at this point in the trial, there wouldn't be a second bite at the apple. Jeopardy had all ready attached.

Until he had more information, McCoy wasn't sure he wanted to risk letting Sam Prescott walk away a free man.If McCoy and Cutter approached Judge Bradley for a continuation and it was denied, McCoy knew Randy Dworkin would jump at the chance to have the case dismissed.

Lost in his thoughts, the 'buzz' went unheard. Tentively, Mike Cutter leaned in to the office as he opened the door.

"Jack? You have a minute?"

McCoy turned the chair to face the younger man and nodded. McCoy watched Cutter cross the room. Dressed in a navy blue pins stripe suit, white dress shirt, and blue tie with thin yellow stripes, McCoy could help notice how confident and formidable the man came across. Much as McCoy had in his early days as an EADA.

"Judge Bradley had a sentencing hearing at two. We're done until tomorrow at nine," Cutter said taking as seat as he automatically loosened his tie. "Did Green and Logan turn up anything new?"

McCoy removed the black framed reading glasses from the end of his nose. McCoy rubbed his eyes as he made his decision.

"Talk to me about your views on exculpatory evidence, Mike."

Cutter met his hero's gaze with surprise, that quickly turned to comprehension. Cutter knew McCoy career highlights backwards and forwards. There could only be one reason the DA would pose such a question.

"I'm not getting disbarred for anyone, Jack. If there is something within the guidelines set down by the New York bar…if we get something the defense clearly has no knowledge of, but has a right to-"

"What if the defendant has knowledge but doesn't know we do and apparently, has chosen to keep defense counsel in the dark? Then what?"

Cutter gave McCoy a baffled stare. He thought his days of elders playing grand inquisitor ended with his last oral exam in law school.

"Then we blow the defense out of the water with whatever it is in the courtroom, "Cutter said raising an eyebrow. "But I can only do that if I know what we're dealing with."

"Prescott was made by the Esparza cartel a few years ago," McCoy said flatly. "That's why he bought the gun. He reported the situation to the Tulsa PD and the Feds. The locals kept an eye on the situation until enough time passed that they were sure the cartel had bigger fish to fry."

"Why not just move him like they did those other times?"

"Because he was involved with someone. That's why he bought the gun after all this time. Prescott was concerned if they realized he was involved with a woman they would try to use her as leverage. Just like Prescott feared Valenski would do with Brooke."

"A woman," Cutter said stretching his legs outward."I thought Prescott was playing the true blue, long lost husband. Does Brooke know?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulder.

"Haven't talked to her in weeks, she hasn't been in the courtroom. Your guess is as good as mine," he said indifferently. "What matters is, he was made and one of Esparza's low level errand boys went to see Valenski days before his release from prison."

"Jack, where are you going with this?"

"I'm not sure. Green is waiting for word from his informant on Lefante. Until then it's just speculation…"

"Then speculate," Cutter said with a grin.

McCoy chuckled.

"Three theories. One, the cartel made Prescott. Sat on the information because they knew he wasn't any kind of threat while he was in witness protection and forgot all about him, meaning this won't affect the case what so ever."

"And the theory _you_ support?"

McCoy grinned.

"Mike, you catch on fast. Two, the cartel held onto the information until they could use it to their advantage. Their silence gave Prescott a false sense of security, so he stayed put and built a new life in Tulsa. Once Valenski's release was obvious, Esparza's lieutenants knew Prescott would be forced to act. Valenski had made enough threats at trial, as well as had ordered enough hits off that hit list from prison, Prescott was sure to resurface long enough to try to get his wife out of Valenski's way. When he did, Esparza set it up to look like Prescott made the hit. If suspicion fell on Prescott, the investigation in Valenski's death would focus on a former federal prosecutor, not a crime family that stood to gain the majority of the drug trade on the east coast, if Valenski was taken out."

"If Green turns up more evidence to support that theory it would make Dworkin's case for him. Judge Bradley would-"

"_If_ Green finds more evidence," McCoy said pointedly. "You asked for the theory I support, not the one would help us win this case."

"Jack if that's how you feel…if you think Prescott is innocent …why don't you-"

"Make a deal? With an innocent man? Dworkin would be right to advise Prescott to tell us to go to hell. Drop the charges? Not when I don't have hard evidence to support my theory. What I believe means nothing, unless the evidence supports it."

Cutter's face softened as he realized the impossible position McCoy was in professionally and personally. If Prescott went to prison, he'd be out of Jack's way personally. He and Brooke Prescott could go back to life as it was. Not to mention what a big win would eventually do for the DA at election time. But if the man was innocent…..Cutter knew McCoy well enough to be ceratin that fact would haunt McCoy if Prescott was indeed convicted.

"Jack, you said there were three theories - what's the other?"

"That when Prescott heard about Valenski's appeal, Prescott snapped. Couldn't deal with running anymore. Couldn't deal with the idea of his wife being a target again. Left his life in Tulsa with the sole purpose of taking Valeski out once and for all. Ditched his gun in the Hudson after he killed Valenski and hoped his reputation would be enough to keep him from being a suspect."

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

In the past month McCoy had drank more scotch than he had in the month Claire Kincaid had died and it worried him. When his dinner companion had suggested dining at _Traven on the Green_ he had agreed. He knew the walk to and from the Central Park landmark would help clear his head. He also knew dining with his only child would make it less likely that he would comsume more than a glass or two of wine that evening.

McCoy smiled as he saw the dark haired young woman wave from the bridge overlooking the gondola's that had begun to line up for their evening fares. Every time he saw her profile, McCoy was amazed at the striking resemblance his daughter had to her mother.

"How are you, Dad," she asked planting a kiss on his cheek.

"Even in Maine the press is playing the trial up as another slimy sex scandal. Honesty Dad,' Rebecca McCoy said with a playful nudge."Why can't you just lose your hair and get a pot belly like other Dad's? Why do you have to be handsome enough at your age that people would actually _believe _you could be part of a sex scandal?"

McCoy let out a much needed laugh and his daughter joined in.

"Is that why I was invited to dinner tonight," he asked.

"That and Mom wanted me to come down for her birthday this weekend, so I figured-," Rebecca frowned at the stricken expression on her father's face."Dad, really…"

"Sorry honey," McCoy said as his daughter sat down on the bench in front of them."I'll order some flowers for your mother first thing in the morning. It's still yellow roses, right?"

"You know it is," she said with a sigh."I guess I should have known. It's not like she would expect you to remember anyway."

"Your mother knows better than that. I never forgot a birthday or anniversary in all the time your mother and I were together, Rebecca," McCoy said with a tone of injured shock.

Rebecca could feel her face flush with shame. She knew her father was right. She also knew the strain he'd been under since before the Prescott case had gone to trial. She had invited him to dinner in hopes of lessening, not adding, to that strain.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said softly as she gave him a hug. "You didn't deserve that. You don't deserve any of it."

McCoy returned the hug and looked down at his daughter with a shy smile.

"Hey, wouldn't it be boring it be if we didn't have at least one disagreement tonight?"

"Neither of us have been accused of being boring, have we, Dad? How's are things going with the case?"

McCoy shrugged and answered her as best he could without discussing particulars.

"Listen, Dad. I know you can't say much, but this guy? Sam? Whether he's innocent or guilty, you know Brooke loves you, right?"

"I know Brooke is in a difficult position right now," he said looking out at the lake. "I know she can only base her decision on the facts as she knows them."

"What does that mean," Rebecca asked, her ears like radar picking up a strange signal."Dad, what facts doesn't she know?"

"Becky…"

"Come one Dad, something's going on. What aren't you telling me?"

McCoy struggled with his conscious. Knowing he didn't want to put his daughter in the middle of his personal dilemma, but wanting a sounding board as well…

"All right. I can tell you this much. It looks like Prescott has been less than honest with her," McCoy admitted.

"About what? About the murder?"

McCoy shook his head.

"Wouldn't tell you that, even if I knew. This is personal. Becky, he met someone in Tulsa. Met and married her."

Rebecca's eyes widened as McCoy filled her in on the woman Sam Prescott had married during his time in Tulsa. Her face flushed with anger and her eyes widened in shock.

"Dad you have to tell her," she said when he finished. "Trial or not you have to her talk about this, tonight."

"If I call her, the press will have the phone records by morning, if I go out there and Prescott is there…"McCoy's voice trailed off as he imaged the confrontation that would explode into something more, if he allowed himself to be anywhere but the courtroom, with Sam Prescott.

"Listen, I've talked to Brooke. I drove out to see her last weekend when Mom and I were down at the beach house. Dad, she has a for sale sign on her house."

"What, "McCoy said sharply, his mind going through several scenarios for Brooke's actions. "Did she tell you why?"

Becky glanced at the bridge and stood up, waving. McCoy followed her gaze and turned back to his daughter livid.

"Rebecca, I know you thought you were helping, but this is a bad idea-"

"You don't even know what 'this' is yet," she said, stubbornly taking his hand and leading him to the entrance to the gondolas.

Once down to the water she handed her father two tickets."Look the boat is covered, anyone following you as to have seen me and thought you were just meeting your daughter. As for Brooke, once it was obvious she wasn't going to your office or your apartment, I'll bether tail lost interest. as well. All you have to do is sit in the boat and wait for her to join you."

"Does Brooke have any idea what you've done?"

Rebecca stepped back seeing the woman in a tan pantsuit and black silk shell coming down the ramp. She waved again as she thrust her father into the waiting boat.

"She does now," Rebecca said triumphantly as she gave Brooke one last wave and hurriedly walked in the other direction.

McCoy returned to the dock. First watching his daughter moving up the ramp, then he swung around to see Brooke. She stopped a moment, clearly shocked to see Jack McCoy. She seemed to hesitate. McCoy knew the smart thing would be for her to turn around and not look back. They were both well aware of how lucky they had been the night she had stopped him on the street. The last night they had spent together. That kind of luck usually didn't happen twice. He watched her lean back slightly on the railing, taking in the sight of him in. For a moment he thought of leaving himself, taking the decision out of her hands. But, as she slowly moved towards him, he found himself unable to do anything except up offer his hand as they stepped into the waiting boat.


	18. Chapter 18

"Jack, I thought I was meeting your daughter."

McCoy slipped in beside her, his hand in hers. The sound of her voice was like of a favorite song playing on the radio. It brought him a feeling of unexpected pleasure that made him smile.

"My daughter obviously let her romantic streak get the best of her. I'm sorry Brooke. I had no idea-"

Brooke smiled while she squeezed his hand.

"A McCoy with a romantic streak, who'd of thought," she said amused."I haven't seen you in nearly a month and you lie to me in the first thirty seconds we finally _are_ together?."

"Excuse me?"

"You aren't the least _bit_ sorry Becky did this and neither am I," she said bluntly. "The only thing I'm sorry about, is that neither of us was clever enough to think of this ourselves."

McCoy nodded at the waiting gondolier and the boat began to pull away from the dock.

"I'm just trying to honor the agreement we made the last time we saw each other. No reason to tempt fate."

Brooke nodded in agreement, as she slipped her hand out of his.

"Fate hasn't been terribly kind as of late, has it Jack," she asked with a sign.

McCoy could hear the resignation in her voice. He patted her knee as his expression softened.

"How have you been Brooke?"

She looked at the mallards swimming in the water and smiled as they moved towards the gondola. McCoy reached into his pocket and tapped the gondolier's shoulder. They exchanged some one dollar bills for packets of bread crumbs.

"Thanks," Brooke said as he handed her a packet. "Better. I've been better Jack, and yourself?"

"Wagging a battle of wits with an unarmed advisory like Dworkin is tiresome at best," he responded as he watched the breadcrumbs he'd thrown fan out beside the gondola.

Brooke gave him a knowing glance as she chuckled.

"I suppose I should feel bad. But, I did give you a heads up," she said with a sigh."Besides, we both know you can handle anything Randy throws at you…which is one of things that has me worried."

McCoy shifted. The awkward silence between them caused to him feel physically, as well as emotionally, confined.

"I spoke to your DA today,"he finally siad. "Michael tells me your and Jake are about ready to wrap up the Chan case?"

McCoy watched her nod and half listened to her response, while he weighed his desire to act on impulse against the potential for damage.

"…it really should be a no brainer once deliberations begin," Brooke paused.

She stared into the dark brown eyes…eyes that on the late afternoon sunlight looked almost black. Eyes that had looked at her with humor and wonder so many times. Eyes that over the course of a year she had learned to read so well…

"God this is awful, isn't it," she asked in frustration. "Making polite conversation like strangers. You don't know how many times I've started to dial your number and hung up at the last minute."

"Oh Brooke,"he said as he slipped his arm around her shoulders. "The trial isn't going to last forever. I'm sure Randy has kept you apprised of its progress.Another month and -"

"Randy? Randy and I have agreed to disagree." she replied thinking of the heated exchange she and her husband's lawyer had when Dworkin had made the mistake of asking her one more time to play on her relationship with McCoy.

"You have other sources,"McCoy began, hesitating before forcefully finishing his reply. "You live with the defendant. I'm sure he's kept you up to date."

Brooke nodded as she crumpled the empty bag, stuffing it in the pocket of her blazer. As much as she wanted to respond with an update of her own. She wanted to tell McCoy about the divorce papers that had been sitting in her desk at her office, to assure him her feelings hadn't changed in the weeks they had been apart, but she felt her loyalties torn and worried about opening up subjects that would lead to more questions.

"Becky tells me you have the house on the market," he said letting his curiousity get the best of him. "Planning a move to Tulsa after the trial?"

Brooke's eyes flashed with annoyance as she twisted the ring on her finger.

"If you think that, maybe I should ask you if you want this back," she said returning the verbal shove.

McCoy looked down at the antique ring on her right hand and inwardly smiled, realizing how pleased he was to see that she still wore it. McCoy moved in closer tightening his grip on her shoulders.

"That almost sounds like a dare, counselor."

Brooke met his gaze and bit back a sharp reply when she realized McCoy was going to kiss her. She inhaled him as his lips met hers, suddenly dizzed by the musky smell that made her ache for him. She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair,while his tongue impatiently parted her lips, as she extended an unspoken invitation.

"Pretty bold for a guy worried about agreements," she whispered once the kiss was broken.

"Maybe, but certainly not as brazen as your attempt to avoid my question," he countered. "Are you going to tell my why you put the house up for sale or do I need to subpoena your realtor?"

"You can't do that,"she playfully responded.

"I'm the DA,"McCoy countered, with equal humor. "If I can have people arrested, I can certainly get a subpeona issued."

Brooke laughed with him, as she opened the clutch bag on her lap and removed an envelope.

"You mean like this one? Adding me to the witness list at this late date, Jack? Is this for effect or is there something I'm missing?"

He thought about his exchange with Mike Cutter: _"What if the defendant has knowledge and apparently, has chosen to keep defense counsel in the dark, then what?"_

"_Then we blow the defense out of the water with whatever it is in the courtroom, "_Cutter had said.

McCoy looked at her shrewdly, aware that an opportunity had presented itself.

"You know the rules, Brooke." He paused and looked into her eyes. "I can't discuss any aspect of the case with you. If you think there's something you're missing…something you don't know but should... maybe you need to ask Sam outright."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

The next morning, Brooke Prescott sat at the keyboard of the computer in her study. Her mind focused, not on the research she had planned to do, but on the events of the previous evening. She thought about the feel of McCoy's lips on hers, his warm embrace she had been reluntant to leave. She could still hear the sound of his quiet laughter, as she remembered the dinner they shared before they had gone their separate ways...

"You better take a look at this."

Brooke looked up to find her husband standing in the archway of her study. He held the Saturday morning paper and the expression on his face was a story all its own. She picked up the paper he had tossed on the desk more forcefully than he had intended. Blanching at the headline, Brooke opened the paper to find herself and Jack McCoy on the center of the page. The single kiss they had shared the evening before, recorded for the world to see.

"Sam I can ex-"she automatically began, suddenly ashamed at being so foolish.

"Brooke, don't," Prescott's responded in a tone that immediatley silenced his wife.

In the years they had shared together, the only time Prescott used Brooke's given name would be in moments of private passion – be it physical passion - or an emotionally charged confrontation.

"How could you let him set you up this way," Prescott said exasperated."Days before he calls you as a witness...do you have any idea what you've let yourself in for?"

"What makes you think Jack is responsible," she immediately snapped. "If anything, this looks more like the handiwork of your attorney. The guy that wanted me to play up my relationship with the the man prosecuting you, remember? This kind of dirt sure as hell doesn't help Jack-"

"This kind of dirt isn't going to just soil McCoy," he countered.

"Sam, neither of us planned this. Jack's daughter – you met Becky when she was here last weekend, remember? Becky set it up so we would meet-"

"Damn it Brooke, what's happened to you," Prescott demanded in the same matter of fact tone she'd heard him use to break a witness on the stand. "You're a prosecutor for God's sake -you were never anybody's fool before I left. Why are you lettin' Jack McCoy make a fool out you now?"

Brooke looked at Prescott, her eyes narrowing as the frustrations of the past several weeks boiled over and spilled out of her mouth.

"If I'm anyone fool I'm _your _fool, Samuel," she said as her chair slammed against the wall, as she stood."You're the one I trusted. You're the one that said 'til death do us part. I stupidly assumed that meant we'd be separated by a _real_ death, _not_ witness protection You're the one that left and expects me to fall back into your arms and back into your bed, as if nothing happened."

"You've made it very clear who you want to share our bed with, missy," Prescott said, his hand automatically blocking her attempt to slap him.

"Once I pay the insurance company off, we'll be lucky of either of us _have_ a bed," she countered as she jerked her hand free.

"So _that's_ why you put the house up for sale, is it" Prescott asked softly. "God almighty Mal, when you wouldn't give me a straight answer, I figured it was your way of telling me we were done after the trial – as if I needed another hint."

Brooke turned away, ashamed by her outbrust. The last thing she had wanted was to add to the tension between them. In the time since trail had begun, the pair had gone through a maze of emotions. An immediate closeness developed through the solidarity they both felt as they worked together to prepared for Prescott's trial. As they tried to share a home again they worked through the shy, overly considerate manner they both fell into as they skirted hot spots in the house, especially the master bedroom.

The few times Prescott had cornered her about finances she had put him off. She used her own preparation for court to avoid the subject and when that didn't work,Brooke assured Prescott her ADA salary was more than sufficient for their immediate needs. She told him after the trial, when he had a chance to reinstate his license to practice law, she would be more than happy to have him reimburse her for Dworkin and whatever other expenses had arisen.

"Damn it honey," he said putting his hands on her shoulders. "I'm still your husband. No one expects you to carry the load alone."

"You have more than your share on your own shoulders, Sam," she said wearily. "Probably more than I know."

Prescott turned her to him, studying her expression.

"What are you askin' me, Mal?"

Brooke thought about McCoy's remark: _"If you think there's something you're missing…something you don't know but should... maybe you need to ask Sam outright."_

Everything about his tone and manner told her it was a warning, she just didn't know what he was warning her about.

"Jack knows something,"she said thoughtfully."Something either about you or something you know and want to keep hidden. It's something he thinks I should know."

"I'm sure McCoy has done a thorough background check on me by now. If not for the trial, for his personal game plan with you," he said evasively, as he rubbed the back of his ear. "It could be anything."

Brooke leaned on the desk, smiling faintly as Prescott unconsciously gave himself away.

"Only time you lied to me before was when you thought you were protecting me, other times you rubbed you ear like that, you were lyin' to somebody else," she said knowingly.

Prescott gave her a sideways glance.

"Think you know me pretty well, don't ya darlin'," he said with a wink.

Brooke could feel the anger drain out of her as she laughed in spite of herself.

"Quit stalling and tell," she said giving him a playful smack.

Prescott sighed.

"You still keep a bottle up here?"

Brooke shook her head.

"Naw, stopped that habit about six months after you left," she said candidly."Found out the hard way the stair case that leads up here is too damn steep. Especially at four a m, three sheets to the wind."

Prescott took her hand.

"I really did put you through hell, didn't I?"

Brooke looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders while she ran a hand over his cheek.

"You didn't put a bottle in my hand. I made some lousy choices. But they were my choices, Sam.Fortunately, I learned diving into a bottle doesn't make your problems disappear."

"You're right,"he said somberly as he slipped a arn around her waist."But, I think you're going to want a drink for this. You'll either want it to drink or to throw at me when I'm done – guaranteed."


	19. Chapter 19

"All right, shoot," Brooke said, taking the shot of tequila he offered her and setting it on the pool table.

"Your Jack isn't a fool. He'd never do something that could give Dworkin grounds for a mistrial. It's got to be …,"Prescott's voice faded as he removed his wallet from his back pocket.

"Sam, just say it," Brooke urged as she rested a hand on his arm. "It's not like your going to confess to killing Velenski. Come on, how bad can it be?"

Prescott handed her the wallet with it open to a photograph of Prescott embracing a woman a approximately her age. The pair were dressed in formal attire... Prescott wearing a white dinner jacket...the woman wearing a simple white cotton dress and holding a bouquet of daisies.

"The new Mrs. Samuel Emerson Prescott," she asked looking up from the photo, her voice strained.

"According to the marriage license, Mrs. Dallas Pierpont. But, yes, I married Ellie,"Prescott said with a heavy sigh. "Darlin', I wanted to tell you. The night you found me down here, I had planned to tell you everything. I had started up the stairs when you were on the phone with Jack that night. Figured I'd give it ten or fifteen minutes and come back upstairs. But you found me. You were in shock. We both got caught up in the moment. Then Fontana and the sheriff-"

"I was_ there_ Sam," she said steadying herself with the table."I don't need the flashback. You've had weeks since then to say something. What stopped you?"

Prescott let out another sigh as he toyed with the blue chalk resting on the tables edge.

"I tried honey. I really did. That day on the courthouse steps, I told you I thought you had a right to know about other women. Then Randy showed up…the night I made you dinner and we looked at old photos-"

"Come on Sam, I'm not stupid," she shot back. "You pulled out all the stops that night – champagne, our song, even the search for Valenski's papers was a ploy to get close again."

"Of course I wanted to get close again," he admitted. "I didn't leave _you_, Mal. I left Valenski's sights or so I thought. I did what any man lucky enough to have had your love would have done. You should have expected nothin' less."

Brooke walked away from his attempt to put his hand on her shoulder and took a seat at the bar.

As she began her reply she paused, considering his words.

"Or so you thought? Does that mean you weren't successful? Did Valenski find you,"she pressed.

Prescott smiled at her the way a teacher smiles when a student gives the correct response, as sat beside her.

"Never let the witness distract you from your goal," he said with admiration. "Damn if you shouldn't have that EADA spotinstead of Clint."

"Well, maybe I would if I hadn't had to take a detour off the career track to pull myself together after you 'died'," she said bluntly. "Who made you, Sam?"

"Ironically it wasn't Valenski's people. That idiot Lefante? The low level drug dealer we busted early on in the Esparza case – you remember?"

Brooke looked sharply up at him.

"I second chaired for you. It was the case that brought us together. You know I haven't forgotten. What about Lefante?"

"'Parently, he screwed up yet again, back in '05. The family sent him out to Tulsa to lay low. We walked right into each other at The Home Depot one day. Damn near had a heart attack when I saw him."

Brooke's eyes widen as she nodded.

"I'll bet you did," she said softly. "I'm sure you reported the incident. That means Jack knows. Why didn't Witness Protection move you immediately?"

"Well now, they wanted to. Got downright nasty about it."

"Oh God Sam, why the hell would there have even been a question," she asked exasperated. "Everything you had already given up… why did you fight it?"

Prescott reached behind the bar, pulling out another shot glass and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Wasn't possible. I'd met Ellie by then," he said.

Brooke's stunned expression was more than he could take. He looked away as he downed a shot of the whisky.

"Don't give me that look Mal. I had my reasons."

"Did you? Well let's hear 'um," she demanded as she took the shot glass out of his hand and refilled it. "You had no problem leaving an eight year marriage and everything else you held dear. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to leave a woman you'd known what? Six months? A year?"

Prescott watched as she finished one shot and began pouring another, her hands shaking. As she brought the glass back up to her lips he grabbed her wrist.

"Mal, don't do this," he said firmly as they fought for the glass.

"Just tell me _why _you bastard," she spat, as the glass fell out of her hands and shattered on the bar.

The couple stared down at the broken glass as the liquor slowly flowed across the bar. Brooke reached for a towel and began haphazardly blotting the liquid, suddenly crying out.

Prescott reached for her hand, eyeing her ring finger as a thick line of blood emerged.

"Stop it Mal, let me do that," he said refusing to release his grip on her hand. "I said stop it. Look at your hand, you're hurt darlin'."

"You think so," she said giving her hand another pull as tears of pain and anger came to her eyes. She looked down at the ring on the bleeding finger and suddenly snatched the bottle off the counter, bringing it to her lips.

Slamming the bottle back down on the counter, she stared up at Prescott with utter contempt.

"All these_ weeks_… The guilt I've felt about breaking our vows, about moving on with my life. Wondering what would have… about loving Jack," she said unaware of the increasing volume of her voice.

She grabbed Prescott by the collar, her face within inches of his. "Tell me why Samuel, why were you able to turn your back on me and our life for all those years, and not able to leave _her_?"

"Because she was sick, darlin'," he said at last, his own eyes shining. "She was sick and she didn't have much time left. A move like that – leavin' her doctors, her family – would have just killed her sooner."


	20. Chapter 20

_Thanks again to the greatest beta on the planet for her help, especially with the 'smut' in this chapter. All of you Sam haters are gonna hate me. But, you'll forgive me when you get to the end. For the record, the last line of the chapter is NOT a typo. The name IS as it was typed (because I AM truly evil, lol)._

"Because she was sick, darlin'," he said at last, his own eyes shining. "She was sick and she didn't have much time left. A move like that – leavin' her doctors, her family – would have just killed her sooner."

Brooke stood frozen as Prescott wiped the tears from her face and followed by wrapping her bleeding finger in his handkerchief. She ran a hand over his damp cheeks and waited.

"I met Ellie right after I moved to Tulsa. She came in to the business the day I set my shingle out, wantin' to know if I could make her a custom table for the bedroom. Somethin' low enough that she didn't strain herself after her chemo treatments when she needed somethin' durin' the night,"he said thoughtfully. "Long story short, I was new in town. She needed someone around to help her after her treatments. Her family members worked and she had no one durin' the day to look after her. She was a brave woman. Wouldn't let on to anyone how bad it was. She talked to me. We became close. One thing led to another and well… you know the rest."

"Did she know about your past," she asked quietly.

"She was sick, but damn, that woman was sharp. A hell of a listener herself. Didn't take long for her to figure out there was more to his old boy than meets the eye. I told her the night before the wedding. Didn't want to make the same mistake I did with you, darlin'," he said.

Brooke rested a hand on his cheek as she looked down at the floor.

"I suppose that when Lefante saw you, you figured your days of not giving into intimidation by carrying a weapon were over, for Ellie's sake?" she asked.

"Darlin' you know me too well. With Ellie so fragile, I was spendin' a lot of that time workin' at her place. I kept my eyes open and the local police couldn't have been more cooperative. By the time Ellie needed hospice, I figured out Lefante had kept his mouth shut – either that or Esparza had bigger fish to fry," he said.

"If Esparza was going to hold a grudge against either of us, I'd have figured it would be me, "Brooke said solemnly. "Remember, I was the lead prosecutor before your office came on board. I had his girlfriend in protective custody ready to testify, not to mention turning some of his key people involved in his prostitution ring. I was the one he made the threat against at trial, 'One day I'll tear your life apart, brick by brick, just as you've torn mine apart'."

Prescott nodded.

"I hadn't forgotten. Witness Protection alerted the locals here and kept me apprised on Esparza's activities. For over a year you were under surveillance…until we were sure Lefante had said nothing," he said.

"So you didn't forget me completely, after all?"

Prescott shook his head slowly, as he pulled her into a hug.

"Brooke Malinowski forgettable," he asked as he gazed into the wide blue eyes. "Not possible."

"I'm sorry you went through even more loss after you left, Sam."

"Sweet Brooke," he said with quiet sincerity. "I've been a lucky man. The good Lord blessed me by bringing two extraordinary women into my life. I loved Ellie and it hurt like hell to lose her. But, never think I ever forgot my love for you, my beautiful babblin' Brooke."

Prescott ran a hand through her auburn locks as he continued to search her eyes.

"Darlin' we both had our share of losses. Kills me I wasn't here when you lost the baby. When you needed me most, I failed you."

Brooke held his gaze, overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, her hand still on his cheek.

"Don't ever think that. You're alive and you're here. That's all that matters."

Prescott's eyes softened as he leaned over, his lips gently touching hers. After waiting, giving her a chance to resist, his arms pulled her close. His lips lightly kissing hers until desire began to take hold of both of them. He pulled her closer as his kisses became more passionate and their breathing became more labored. It sent an unmistakable message. She shivered against him and he knew it wasn't because she was cold.

Brooke clung to him, feeling her knees go weak, as his kisses became more intense. Sensing this, Prescott scooped her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs.

When they reached the master bedroom, he set her back on her feet. As he kissed her once more while he gently he lifted her hand and let the handkerchief drop. Carefully, quietly, he slipped the ring from her hand and put it in the pocket of his vest.

"I'm sorry I hurt you Brooke," he whispered as his lips traveled down her neck. He carefully unbuttoned the first few buttons of her blouse, his lips resting at the valley between her breasts.

Brooke closed her eyes, her hands pressing his head closer, as she moaned. As Prescott continued unbuttoning her blouse, Brooke's fingers moved to the top of his open vest, slipping it off before she began to unbutton his shirt.

Prescott looked up, his eyes questioning, afraid to speak and break the spell. Brooke slipped his shirt off; her hands exploring the fine golden brown hair that covered his already hardened nipples. As she kissed his shoulder her nose caught an intoxicating whiff of Ralph Lauren combined with the sweet scent of pipe tobacco. She could hear the sharp breath he took as her blouse and bra slid off her and Prescott's hands followed a familiar path over her breasts.

Brooke pressed herself against him; as she reached behind his neck and brought his lips down to meet hers. Her body fell into an unconscious rhythm against his as he removed the remainder of her clothing. His task complete, his hands claimed what had been his. He felt drunk with desire as his mouth ravaged hers.

When he came up for air, Prescott stepped back and gazed at what he'd only dreamed of seeing since his return to New York. The splendid nakedness of the woman he'd left so long ago, made his body ache to end the waiting and have her at last. Prescott's eyes looked into Brooke's with lustful bliss. A distant voice in the back of her mind implored her to stop. The voice reminded her that to keep going was to start down a road she could not turn return from. But heart, mind, and body were not in agreement as her hands quickly unzipped his pants.

Prescott closed his eyes once more, as the impatient touch of his wife's hands on his hardness washed away his own brief pang of guilt. He found his body meeting the increasing rhythm of her hips. Ignoring his conscience he led her to the bed as he kissed, fondled and tasted her. Their minds were focused solely on recapturing the loving passion of a time long passed. Neither heard the sound of the art deco frame, inadvertently knocked off the bedside table, as its protective glass shattered.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

From the bench, she looked out across the pier at the unforgiving ocean. Her arms tightly squeezed her knees, the warmth of the heavy wool sweater no match for the wind wiping around her. The sound of another wave breaking was outweighed by the sound of her own voice as Brooke Prescott replayed the scene over once again in her mind.

As they made love time had seemed to stand still. The feel of his hands, his mouth, his body against her had been all that mattered. She knew by the way he moved, as well as the stiffness that pressed against her pelvic bone, how badly he wanted her. She had reached down as she slipped off of him and onto her back. He had followed her lead and was instantly on top of her.

She instinctively moaned as her body writhed upon feeling a finger slide inside of her. Her body rode first one, then two fingers, with lustful abandonment. Her hips rising and falling as the organ still in her hand responded without pretense. His manhood twitched involuntarily and when she used her hand to stroke him, he was wet with his own lubrication.

Still communicating in their wordless language of passion, she had replaced his fingers with his hardness. She ran a hand through the damp locks of his hair as she heard his primal cry of pleasure. As their bodies rocked she found herself lost in the myriad of emotions and physical ecstasy she felt.

Knowing each of them was close to their limit, she had cried out as a the first wave of their climax hit, pressing against him with all of the strength she'd had left knowing she was his and his alone.

"Jack," she had breathed. "God how I love you, Jack."


	21. Chapter 21

The feel of a warm hand on her shoulder abruptly interrupted her thoughts..

"Jake? How did you…," Brooke began."What are you doing here?"

Cohen took a seat beside his friend. One look at Brooke told Cohen why he had recieved an urgent phone from Sam Prescott a little more than an hour before. Cohen inwardly sighed, as he put his arm around her.

He had been emotionally standing back, waiting for explosion in one form or another to happen between Brooke and Prescott, since Prescott's return. He knew both parties too well to think that they could live under the same roof after everything that had happened and not buckle under the pressure of either the past they shared or the issues they faced in the present.

"Sam called," Cohen said. He frowned as he rubbed her hands with his."You're like ice, Brooke. Let's go up to _Flynn's_ and get you warmed up."

"I'm fine Jake," she said stubbornly. "Sam shouldn't have involved you in this. Go back to William and enjoy what's left of the weekend. The poor man must have had his fill of my life crisis's interrupting your time together-"

"Will is an incredibly generous and patient man. Besides, I'll make it up to him when I stop on the way back and bring him back some homemade coffee cake from _Rachel's_ for Sunday breakfast."

Brooke shook her head.

"Go home Jake."

"Brooke, the man is worried sick about you," Cohen said as he removed his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "If you don't want to talk, I won't push. But, either you go inside with me or we freeze out here together."

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"How much did he tell you," she asked as the waitress left with their order.

Cohen shrugged his shoulders as he surveyed the room. The popular bar and grill that was usually packed during the evening was all but deserted. Only the bartender, a waitress and two men who appeared to be weekend fisherman, sat at the bar watching the afternoon game.

Brooke followed his gaze.

"What are you doing," she asked.

"Just making sure you won't get more unwanted press,"Cohen admitted. "I saw the _Ledger_ this morning. I think you're safe here, though. I don't see any camera's and with that storm coming in, it would have to be a hell of a telephoto lens to make get anything other than blur."

Brooke stared for a moment, the mrong paper a distant memory. After a moment, she nodded.

"Good old tabloid journalism. Where would we be without it," she said cynically, as the waitress set down two cups of coffee and departed.

Brooke picked up a packet of creamer as she continued. "So, how much did Sam tell you?"

"Not much," Cohen said as he reflected on the unexpected phone conversation."He said you two had words and you had left the house pretty upset. Figured you'd be with me. When you weren't, he asked if I do some checking. He didn't want to call your brother and worry him, so-"

"You didn't," Brooke asked sharply, as she brought the cup to her lips.

Cohen shook his head.

"Naw, wanted to try a few of your hiding places first. Besides, Sam was reaching. I know you wouldn't go to Andy this. Not when he's Sam's biggest supporter these days."

"Thanks," she said softly. "You know Jake, if we could just get passed the fact you prefer a hairy chest to a bust line, you'd be the perfect man for me."

Cohen's laughter filled the room as he wiped drops of coffee from his mouth.

"If only," he replied, amused. "Obviously this isn't about the case. Not with you making remarks like that. Maybe I should give Jack a call-"

"No," she said, almost in a panic."Jack's the last person I want to talk to right now."

Cohen watched her while she drank her coffee and stared out the window. When he reached for the sugar dispenser, he noticed her injured finger. He frowned, as he picked up her hand. While he inspected the jagged cut, it suddenly occured to him what was supposed to be there and wasn't.

"Oh Brooke," he said squeezing the hand that was missing a ring Cohen knew had come to symbolize so much for her. "I hate to see you hurting like this. Talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what happened."

Cohen listened as his friend recounted the morning's events. Two cups of coffee and three tear filled napkins later, he sat back, feeling like he had been on an emotional rollercoaster ride.

"It should go without saying, you are being too hard on yourself. But, knowing you as I do, it has to be said," he replied with a wink.

Brooke smiled sadly at her friend.

"You really should do defense work. You have a heart big enough to justify anything, if it involves someone you believe in."

"You give me too much credit," he said glibly. "I'd have a harder time justifying the actions of a child rapist, than a woman whose been broadsided more times in the last two months than I have in the last decade. Brooke, you're only human. So is Sam. I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner."

"Yeah, well spending most of my nights at the office until midnight kind of helped lessen the chances,"she said miserably."God Jake, I can't even do betrayal right…I mean I _let_ it happen and then I called Sam '_Jack_', and at the most intimate moment possible. How messed up is _that_?"

"I'll give you, it wasn't what I expected," Cohen admitted. "I'm sure it wasn't what Sam expected either. But betrayal? Come on Brooke. You might have betrayed your own parochial sense of morality, but you didn't betray either one of them."

"Parochial? Gee Jake…I didn't realize remaining faithful to your lover – or your husband – were such out of dates ideas. Maybe I should just buy a bigger bed and-"

"What about being faithful to yourself," he asked ignoring her sarcasm. "You had to know Brooke. You had to see how far your feelings ran for Sam."

"I think that's what they have shrinks for, Cohen," she said, as she looked at the finger that felt so bare. "God, Jake what a mess... I've managed to hurt both of them. On top of that, Sam could go to prison for a murder he didn't commit and Jack…Jack's shot at a second term could be destroyed with all the bad press and fallout from the trial…not to mention the fact before this is all done the last thing Sam and I will probably do together is file for chapter seven protection."

Cohen started to tell her she was over reacting, exaggerating, but knew that would be a lie.

"My God it must seem like your life has been torn apart…personally, professionally, brick by brick. But you've survived worse. Sam's death, the miscarriage and you've always managed to pick yourself up. This time will be no exception."

Brooke nodded as she picked up her purse and stood.

"Thanks Jake. I appreciate you coming all the way down here to rescue me one more time. But, it's getting late. If you want to hit_ Rachel's_ before you go back to the Hampton's you better get a move on."

Cohen stood as well leaving some money on the table. He put his arm around her shoulder as they moved towards the door.

"Actually, Will's waiting for me at my place. Come help me pick some coffee cake before you head back. I'll even buy you one of Rachel's sinfully delicious brownies."

As they walked from the boardwalk to the main avenue of the quaint oceanfront village, rain began to steadily fall from the sky. In an effort to avoid becoming soaked, the pair made a dash for the door, nearly knocking over the tall grey haired figure clad in a green all weather jacket and jeans.


	22. Chapter 22

McCoy's smiled with pleasure, as he found himself face to face with Brooke. Cohen discreetly slipped past the couple and continued towards the counter.

"Another arranged chance meeting," McCoy asked as followed her back into the bakery. "Not that I'm complaining, but I'm sure you're less than pleased with what was in this morning's paper."

"Not this time," Brooke replied as she followed McCoy to a table by the door. "Jake and I just came from _Flynn's_. He needed to pick up a coffee cake for William and I decided to tag along. As for the paper-"

"My fault," he said seriously. "I knew better. I hope there hasn't been any fall out for you."

Brooke shook her head, as she looked around to see Cohen engaged in an intense discussion with the clerk at the counter.

"Nothing I can't handle. Besides, I could have turned around and walked away. Neither one of us has the corner on good judgment these days, Jack," she said looking down as she rested her hands in her lap.

McCoy studied her face. Even with her eyes averted, it was obvious from the puffy, red areas around her eyes and nose that she had been crying. She wore no makeup. The fact she wore no coat or jacket with the black sweater and jeans told him she'd left the house in a hurry. McCoy jumped to an obvious conclusion.

"It appears you spoke to Sam about those missing pieces."

Brooke looked up. Startled by the mention of her husband's name, it took her a moment to realize what McCoy was referring to.

"I did,"she replied, as she nodded. "I appreciate you giving me the heads up yesterday. I'm sure you'll find a way to bring Sam's life in Tulsa to the juries attention on Monday. Thanks for not broadsiding me with it when I have to take the stand."

"Brooke, do you want a ride to the ferry or..."

The pair looked up at Cohen, then at each other. McCoy knew he should let her go, but something about her manner wasn't right. Even if Prescott had told her about his second wife, it didn't explain the clearly distraught state she was in.

"I'll make sure she gets to the ferry Jake, if that's all right with you, Brooke?"

"Not a good idea," she began as she stood, cursing herself…cursing the mess her life had become.

She thought about Cohen's words. Her life _had_ been torn apart and it _did_ feel as if it had been destroyed brick by brick…words she remembered from elsewhere, but she couldn't recall when.

Suddenly her jaw dropped.

She'd heard those exact words over a decade before...at a post trial sentencing hearing…from the mouth of Mexican Mafia Don Hector Esparza.

_One day I'll tear your life apart, brick by brick, as you have done to mine…._

_888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888_

McCoy glanced at Jake Cohen as Brooke told the story of the case she and Sam Prescott had worked nearly fourteen years before. McCoy knew the realty of defendants and their threats. He also knew, as real as those threats could be at the time usually, once sentencing had taken place and appeals were denied, the threats were forgotten.

"You think this is crap, don't you," she bluntly, catching McCoy's skeptical glance.

"I think it's possible Esparza could be involved," McCoy responded, unfretted. "I also think felons say a lot of things in the heat of the moment. I can have Logan and Green check out your suspicions, but I can't drop the charges against Sam until I have cooberating evidence to support-"

"Green and Logan have been trying to track down that informant for weeks and they have come up empty," she said heatedly. "You're calling me to the stand on Monday, Jack. You'll be giving your closing argument by Thursday, at the lastest. If I'm right, you're going to convict an innocent man on circumstantial evidence."

"Then bring me something that will justify withdrawing the case," he said with equal fire.

"Both of you need to calm down," Cohen said bluntly. "Jack, if Brooke and I go alone to see Esparza and we find something out, it's going to smell like a set up and your judge will rule anything we find out as inadmissable. Any way someone from your office can meet up with us Sunday morning at Sing Sing to keep this legit?"

McCoy nodded in agreement.

"I'll give Cutter a call and have him meet you. Brooke, you probably should give Randy Dworkin a call and invite him to the party," he said grudgingly. "If you want to observe, that's one thing but as far as questioning Esparza goes, you need to leave that to Cutter and Dworkin. I don't want you anywhere near Esparaza."

Brooke shook her head.

"I can get into Sing Sing without your approval, Jack.. The only way this is going to work is if Sam or I confront Esparza. Since Sam is a defendant, that leaves me. Listen, I know you think I'm grasping, but you have the records. Lefante sat on the fact Sam was alive for two years. It wouldn't have been hard for him to find out Sam had bought the .45, since Lefante was in Tulsa at the time. He must have told Esparza or one of his lieutenants. Esparza knew Valenski was on the appeal route – it was common knowledge the key witness was dead and Sam was unavailable to testify. Esparza has to have known it was just a matter of time before Valenski was back out and his territory would be in real jeopardy. Esparza had to have been thinking of ways to get rid of Valenski – what better fall guy than a ex federal prosecutor with his own reasons for wanting to see Valenski dead?"

McCoy sighed as he stood.

"I want Cutter with you the whole time. These are serious people we're dealing with. No grand standing Brooke," he said firmly.

Brooke nodded as she and Cohen stood as well. McCoy reached for the door and gestured for Cohen to pass, as he turned to Brooke.

"Maybe we'll get lucky Sunday and this whole thing will be over soon,"he said as he moved to embrace her.

Brooke heistated. She started to step back, but not soon enough. Not before McCoy was close enough to catch the faint, unsettling combination of aftershave, pipe tabacco, and sex. Their eyes met, as each of them felt a wave of nausea.

"Jack, I don't know-" she began, as she looked down at the floor.

Fontana had told McCoy about Brooke's state of mind, as well as her disheveled appearance, the night Prescott had returned. Searching her face he saw discomfort, misery, sorrow... but not the shattered look of a rape victim. Relieved, as well as disillusioned, he looked down at her. His face became a mask of indifference.

His roguish smile took on a hard edge as he stared at her, while he leaned against the door.

"Coffee with the only man who's walked though your door that you haven't laid," he said with a wounded chuckle. "Conjugal relations must not be quite up to par. At least after I had my turn in your bed you felt obliged to –"

Brooke's looked up just as Cohen's fist made contact with McCoy's jaw. The sound was loud enough to cause the girl at the counter to look up with a start. The two men's eyes met. Cohen glared at McCoy. McCoy stared him down arrogantly, smiling a humorless smile. The pool of blood began to run from the side of his mouth, downward.

"I believe that's called assault, Mr. Cohen," McCoy said as he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

"Call a cop," Cohen retorted as he grabbed Brooke by the arm."If I hear you talk to her that way again, it'll be assault with intent."

McCoy gave Brooke a glance filled with comtempt, as he started by the pair.

"Call a cop," he repeated in a tone that cut Brooke to the quick."Not worth the trouble."


	23. Chapter 23

By the time Jack McCoy had walked from the boardwalk to his beach house he was ready for a hot shower, an ice pack, and a stiff drink, not necessarily in that order. The sudden down pour had left his clothing drenched and his body chilled. The dull ache in the left side of his face had turned into an persistant throbbing sensation. He had opened the front door, when the black Toyota pulled onto his drive way. McCoy turned in annoyance, ready to bark at whoever had the misfortune of being in the car. The look on the Federal Prosecutor's face stopped him cold.

"Abbie, you're a long way from home," he said as he stepped back to let her pass through the doorway.

Carmichael waited until he had closed the door and disarmed the alarm before running a concerned hand along his swollen jaw.

"You better get some ice on that Jack. What happened?"

"I ran into something," he said vaguely as he moved towards the kitchen, stripping off the soaked jacket and leaving it on the counter.

"Looks like you ran into somebody's fist," Carmichael said accusingly, as she watched him wrap some ice in a kitchen towel before he grabbed the bottle of scotch, as well as two of the glasses beside it, and motioned for her to follow him to the living room.

"Not the fist you think," he said as he handed her a drink and. "Since you went to the trouble of tracking me down on a Saturday, I assume this isn't a social visit?"

"Afraid not and if you would check your voicemail a little more often, you'd know I did try to let you know I was coming out. I just left Sam Prescott and-,"Carmichael paused as McCoy muttered something unintelligible. "Jack, I know the guy isn't your choice for prosecutor of the year right now, but you are handling a murder case against him."

McCoy nodded as he set his drink down and adjusted the ice pack.

"So this is about the case?"

"My office got a call this afternoon from Lt. Van Buren notifying us that a .45 had been pulled out of the Hudson that matches the serial numbers on Sam's gun registration."

"What about the shell casings," he asked intently.

Carmichael shook her head.

"Haven't got the results back yet. But, Sam's filled me in on this Lefante that made him in Tulsa. When he - what?"

"Nothing, what about Lefante," McCoy said as he waved an impatient hand while he fought to put aside his personal feelings about Prescott.

Carmichael eyed him suspiciously, still trying to read her former boss as she continued.

"When he realized the gun was missing, he called the Suffolk county sheriff's office.The sheriff's office had their CSU go through the room. I got a call from Sheriff Waters this afternoon-"

"You got a call," McCoy said bluntly. "Excuse me Abbie, but Judge Progracic left this case in my jurisdiction. Your office is supposed to be getting its information from my office, not the other way around."

Carmichael grimaced.

"Do you want to split hairs over jurisdiction or do you want to hear what Waters had to say," she smiled victoriously, as McCoy gestured for her to continue. "One of the hairs that the CSU collected belongs to Ramon Prado. Another low level flunky in the Esparza crime family."

McCoy sighed as he laid the ice pack down while he carefully rubbed his jaw and considered not only Carmichael's new information, but Brooke's theory about the murder.

"Jack you have good reason not to like Sam Prescott, but I know you don't want to send an innocent man to prison."

"There's nothing 'innocent' about Sam Prescott," McCoy snapped.

He winched, from a suden twinge of pain from his jaw and from the memory of the look on Brooke's face just before Cohen hit him. He lowered his eyes, instantly aware he had given himself away. Carmichael gave him the withering scare he remembered well from her days as his assistant.

"Maybe you should withdraw from the case," she said sharply. "You have Mike Cutter second chairing-"

"Maybe you should do the same," he shot back. "Prescott was a living legend when you got to the state's attorney's office. You told me yourself how star struck you were when you were assigned to second chair for him on the Sangretti case. You said you just came from seeing him - clearly you have a personal relationship with him."

Carmichael's eye widened as she stubbornly set her jaw.

"God, Jack! 'Personal relationship'? I'm not sleeping with the man,"she said incredulously. "If you'd be more comfortable with someone else representing my office on this case, call my boss. I guarantee you, who ever you get is still going to be rooting for Sam. What the hell happended to make you so damned unreasonable?"

McCoy's eyes flased and he started to speak and then thought better of it. They held each others emotionally charged gazes, until he shook his head in frustration and looked away.

"I'm sorry, Abbie,"he said in a tone that was just barely audible."It has nothing to do with you."

Carmichael paused her face softening slightly as her gaze wavered from McCoy's

"For the record, I was star struck when I worked for you too, Jack. I just knew better then to let on. I'd prosecute not only Sam Prescott but a certain John McCoy, if I had evidence either one of you had committed murder."

""We have a gun that may or may not be the murder weapon," McCoy said with a sigh."We have a vendetta against an assistant district attorney – hardly unheard of. Until I have something concrete, my hands are tied Abbie, whether the defendant is named Sam Prescott or Adam Schiff."

Carmichael nodded.

"It always comes down to where the evidence points us," Carmichael said softly as she carefully touched his jaw. "The evidence here seems to suggest you've been less than wise in your choice of words recently."

McCoy shook his head as he leaned back on the sofa.

"Come on Abbie, it hardly takes Sherlock Holmes to deduce that I can be…colorful in my verbage."

"Listen, Jack. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. But for your own good, you better take a hard look at what you really want here and be honest with yourself about it."

McCoy stood and moved towards the fireplace. He reached for a box of matches and his eyes fell on a recent addition to the photos on the mantel.

"Honestly? Honestly, what I want isn't the issue here," he said with a note of regret, suddenly feeling a sense of shame as he remembered his biting words to Brooke.

McCoy turned his attention away from the picture as he solemnly laid it down before bending down to start a fire in the fireplace.

Carmichael watched the scene with concern for a man she looked upon, not only as a colleague, but as a cherished friend.

"Listen," she said reluctantly. "I don't want to get in the middle of what is going on between you and Sam. You're both friends and I can't even image how hard this is on Brooke. But, when I saw Sam today…something had changed. Not that he said anything about his relationship with Brooke, but he did say he's had an offer to go back to the state attorney's office if the jury finds him innocent."

"Abbie, I'm really not interested in what Sam Prescott's job prospects-"

"Jack, the offer he's considering is in Albany," she said adamantly."He made it sound like he'd be making the move to Albany alone, if it happens."


	24. Chapter 24

By the time Hector Esparza was brought to the interview room, Brooke was seated between Dworkin and Cutter, leaving McCoy and Prescott to watch the exchange from behind the two way mirror, along with the corrections personnel.The tension between the principals had been high enough to keep even Dworkin in check, who wisely forfeited his usual banter with McCoy and spent most of his time conferring with Cutter and his client.

The debate once the attornies arrived at SingSing had been brief and heated. McCoy and Brooke made a point of avoiding direct contact with each other. As the four men debated what the extent of Brooke's involvement should be with Esparza, neither of them look directly at the other. Responses to each others comments were made via remarks to the three other men.

Dworkin and Cutter agreed the surest way to get any useful information out of the senior member of the Esparza crime family, was to have the ADA that had been instrumental in putting him behind bars prod him. Prescott and McCoy were united in thier opposition to having Brooke in the same room with Esparza. Brooke unceremoniously ended the debate by curtly informing the group they were welcome to argue however long they liked, but unless someone planned on calling DA Michael Jackowski – the only person that had the actual power to stop her - she was going to wait for Esparza in the interview room. She turned on her heel, just as she caught McCoy's disapproving scowl out of the corner of her eye, along with a fleeting view of his swollen jaw.

Truth be told, McCoy had never relished the idea of bringing a woman to a correctional facility. Even the routine interrogations he'd watched numerous female ADA's conduct over the years, more often than not, had made him tense and anxious to have the encounter over. Although any woman who had made to Major Felonies could hold her own in an interrogation, as a man McCoy felt compelled to watch out for his female colleagues. He worried about them inadvertently making themselves targets for future retribution. Seeing a man like Esparza so close Brooke - regardless of the ugly exchange of the day before - made McCoy wary, even before the interview had begun.

Esparza leaned back in his chair, a thin smile below the graying mustache.

"Did you come to make a deal or just because you miss me?"

"The warden said you waived your right to counsel. Before we begin, maybe you'd like to reconsider," Brooke said evenly. "Mr. Dworkin and Mr.Cutter believe you may have some information they might find beneficial in the murder of Vladimir Valenski. If they are right, if could mean some leeway on where you finish your time…extra privileges..."

Esparza leaned towards her.

"What do you think, ADA Malinowski," he began mockingly, "oh, excuse me. It's Prescott now isn't it? You married that states attorney you handed my Maria to – my beautiful loyal Maria. Loyal until you threatened to send her back to Mexico if she didn't betray me. Or no, maybe it's McCoy now? You must forgive me, relying on month old newspapers to keep up with the activities of my…friends… on the outside puts me at a slight disadvantage."

Brooke lean forward as well, meeting the menacing dark eyes the way a trainer stares a animal down, in a show of dominance.

"Hector, as I recall you had no problem thinking creative ways to address me at your sentencing hearing, why should today be any different," she responded with a hardness that caused the younger men to glance at each other, before glancing at the two way mirror. "Be creative. Be bold. But don't pretend you don't know what's happened and why I'm here."

Esparza's eyes flashed momentarily before he shook his head and laughed with genuine amusement. He looked with mild annoyance at the two men and waved his hand.

"You disappoint me, lovely one. I've been looking forward to having you to myself for so long and you bring …"Esparza searched for the right word, "escorts?"

Hector Esparza looked more like Ricardo Montalban performing charming his leading lady, than the stone cold killer that he was, as he placed handover heart.

"What happened to that arrogant spitfire that sent that idiot states attorney – Prescott – to the wrong interrogation room, just so she could spend some time alone with me? I must apologize, after all these years, it never occurred to me you would suddenly find yourself fearful of me."

"Mr. Esparza," Cutter broke in curtly. "The murder of Valdimir Valenski took place in New York County. The only person in this room that can offer you a deal with would be myself, so-"

"I have no desire deal, Mister…Cutter," he said smoothly. "Only to … reminisce with the lovely ADA from Suffolk County. Besides, if I _were_ to make a deal, it would be with your boss directly…I have heard many…I should I say it…many 'impressive' things about the district attorney of New York county."

On the other side of the glass Prescott exchanged wary glances with McCoy.

"Listen Jack. Get her out of there, now. Esparza isn't going to say anything of value. He's just going to play with her until –"

McCoy shook his head as he continued to watch.

"He's cocky…if she lets him talk long enough he'll slip up and give us something to connect him to the Valenski murder or give your attorney grounds for a continuance. Besides," he said bluntly. "She's your wife, what makes you think I have any more influence with her than you do?"

"Because you're the man she wants, not the one she happens to be tied to at the moment," Prescott countered bluntly. "Although, at this moment, it's beyond me why she'd want a man that's willing to stand by and watch her-"

"I'm not having this conversation with you. Your wife is an assistant district atttorney. The only way either of us can put an end to this is if Esparza gets violent or the Suffolk county DA steps in. If you really think-"

McCoy became silent as he heard Brooke say, "Gentleman, since Mr. Esparza is willing to be shackled, I think you can leave us to it."

McCoy's jaw tightened as he silently swore at what he knew was an attempt to gain Esparza's trust. An effort to make the man over confident.

Once the corrections officer had secured Esparza to the metal table, Cutter and Dworkin stood.

"I need to confer with the prosecution for a moment," Dworkin said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Don't be long, my beauty," Esparza said with a grin.

Once outside the room Dworkin turned to Brooke.

"You know all that stuff I said at the start of trial? all those things I said about needing your full support?"

"Randy, this is-"

"Forget it," he said sharply. "I've been a defense lawyer for a longtime, Brooke. This guy isn't going to give you anything but grief. Let's see what the lab turns up on the gun and-"

"For once I have to agree with Mr. Dworkin," Cutter said firmly. "It's obvious Esparza's involved. He was expecting you. There's no way you'll get him off guard. Besides, if something happens to you, my boss is going-"

"Charge him with attempted murder and take great pleasure in telling me 'I told you so'," Brooke said with cheerfulness that didn't ring true, even in her own ears. "Look, just go joijn Sam and Jack. If things get out of hand, send in the marines."

When Brooke returned she took a seat across from Esparza. She causally glanced at the shackles, mentally gauging how much play was in the chains and how far back she'd have to thrust herself from the table to be out of Esparza reach.

"All right, Hector. You have what you wanted," she said crossing her legs. "I remember how much you enjoyed sharing your escapades in your own roundabout way. So let's hear it. How did you manage to pull it off?"

The grin returned to Esparza's face.

"This time, you have given me too much credit," he said innocently. "You mentioned Valenski. I'd heard my competitor had met with an untimely death. But then again, I'd heard the same about that Federal Prosecutor, your husband. The papers said something about him being charged with poor Valdimir's death," Esparza replied with feigned concern, as he strained his handcuffs just enough to lightly touch Brooke's fingers.

"How terrible for you, my dear. To find that a man you loved and trusted faked his own death. Then, to find that man is a murderer, as well? Tell me, with the cost of a good attorney – something I am well acquainted with myself- as well as the unexpected expense of reimbursing what I'm sure was a considerable life insurance policy, on top of the nightmares you must be having about what will happen to a gringo former prosecutor on the inside, tell me how that _does_ that make you feel Brooke?"

Esparza's eyes flashed with almost lustful pleasure as he said her name, his tone suddenly low and deadly.

Brooke was horrified to have her suspicions confirmed. Confirmed in such a way there was nothing she could do but continue to prod and pray something would surface.

"It makes me feel flattered, Hector," she replied,feigning admiration. "You're a busy man. Even in prison, you still manage to run most of the operations of your business. Yet, you've obviously spent much of your time thinking about me and how to pay me back for putting you in prison. When you called me all those nice names during the sentencing hearing, I knew I'd made an impression, but to have you go this far? I'll have to check with my friends in the OCB. Business must be slow for you to have so much time on your hands."

"You must forgive me for those thoughtless remarks I made so long ago. I was so much younger then. So warm blooded back then. Now, I find being cold blooded is much more effective, as well as much more satisfying, when I want to make a point" he said with disarming clarity.

"As for the rest, I must confess," he said with a chuckle. "As much as I would like to take credit for such a creative and if I do say so myself, effective way to get your attention, it appears it is _your _Mr. Prescott that is responsible. Appearing out of the blue when everyone thought he was dead? That in itself must have been quite a shock for you."

"Yet, you knew for so long that he was alive," Brooke said playing a hunch. "NYPD picked up Lefante this morning. We know he informed the family when he saw Prescott in Tulsa."

Esparza's smile deepened as he shook his head.

"You're getting sloppy – I'm so disappointed. You know better to use a bluff I can so easily check. You haven't seen Lefante. No one has," he said fanning in his hands outward. "Very unlikely anybody will."

In the observation room McCoy turned to Cutter.

"Mike, call Lt. Van Buren. Ask her to have her people start checking for a match with the unidentifieds in the morgues within the tri-stae area for Lefante. Tell her we need Prado and the ballistics report on that gun _today_."

"Gee Jack, does that mean you're ready to drop the charges against my client," Dworkin interjected as Cutter moved past him on his way out.

Before McCoy could respond Prescott put a hand on Dworkin's shoulder.

"You two can do that dance when Brooke's away from Esparza," he said in a tone that left no room for discussion.

Brooke smiled knowingly at Esparza.

"Sent Lefante on a permanent vacation, did you Hector? In or out of state?"

Esparza looked towards the two way window, tipping his head slightly.

"I never said that I was Jamie's travel agent. Besides, I think I given your admirers that hide behind the glass, more than enough to arouse their curiosity," he snickered.

"Seeing me alone was your idea,,Hector" she reminded him smoothly. "Besides, you yourself, assured me I was quite safe in your hands. I'm sure Mr. Cutter and Mr. Dworkin are-"

"I was speaking of my future cell mate and the_ current_ district attorney of New York County. Although, after such an ugly trial, all the scandal around prosecuting someone so _revered_ as his lover's husband, I find it unlikely your Mr. McCoy will be DA much longer," Esparza said with a sigh."Yet another causality in such a tragic chain of events."

Brooke could fele her patience wearing thin, as she sat back while she fixed her eyes on the concrete flooring.

"You know Hector," she said bluntly, "it would have been a lot less trouble for you, to have just put a contract out on me and have been done with it."

"But my dear, you've missed the whole point," he said with delight."I am not the monster Valenski was. No, the Mexican mafia lacks to coarseness of the Russians. We don't kill whole families – we value 'la familia'. We certainly do not _kill_ prosecutor's, such as yourself. At least not as often or as brutally as the Russians. Even if that were not so, death is such a fleeting and unsatisfying way to deal with one's advisaries."

"Much more effective to tear your opponent's life apart – 'brick by brick'," she said,with disgust.

"A concept someone such as yourself is quite familiar with," he said with equal contempt. "Someone that not only put my business in jeopardy, but my family and my mistress by forcing them to betray the organization I am a part of."

"_You_ put them at risk by involving them in a criminal lifestyle," she dispassionately countered.

"As have you, by involving yourself in affairs that didn't concern you," he shot back. "My organization believes in an eye for eye. I have not been put to death, my opponents continue to amuse themselves by watching me struggle to survive. Why would I settle for any less, were I to seek some form of revenge against you?"

After several seconds he smiled, his amused mask firmly back in place. He looked towards the door. His smile became a wide grin, as Jack McCoy entered the room.


	25. Chapter 25

"Mr. McCoy. I recognize you from your recent photographs in the paper. I was wondering when you would join us," Esparza said hospitality. "My good friend, Senor Bruner, asked me to give you his remembrances."

McCoy's game face hid his shock at hearing the chillingly familiar name of the serial killer he and Serena Southerlyn had prosecuted.

"Mrs. Prescott, I've advised the Suffolk County District Attorney that my office has jurisdiction over this matter. He agrees. I will finish Mr. Esparza's interview."

Brooke scanned McCoy's face skeptically. Although she knew she had eeply wounded him, Brooke knew McCoy would have little much patience for siting idly by during her exchange with Esparza. Especially given the feelings she knew had been at the heart of his bitter words the previous day.

"I'd like confirmation of that from DA Jackowski, himself"

McCoy nodded as he gestured towards the door.

"Mr. Cutter has him standing by on his cell phone. He'd like to speak to you as well, "McCoy said effortlessly continuing his bluff.

"Fine," she said curtly, abruptly standing.

Esparza was still laughing when the heavy door closed. McCoy sat down across from him.

"I must congratulate you," Esparza said contritely. "You are obviously more of a man than that cipher our lovely Brooke is married to. For you to-"

"Mr. Esparza, I'm a busy man," McCoy said wearily. "I haven't the time not the patience to listen to another hour of you self important banter. I'm here to make you a deal, nothing more."

"A deal? I have admitted to nothing more than regrets for the hardships my family has endured after my encounter with the state's attorney and the Suffolk County District Attorney's office. How can you make a deal, when you have nothing to charge me with?"

"After I send Mr. Cutter to the Grand Jury with the information we've obtained today, I would image the counts will be murder one for both Valdmir Valenski and Jamie Lefante."

Esparza stared back at McCoy amused.

"Mark told me you had a marvelous sense of humor," he replied confidently. "All you have to connect me to Valenski's death is your own speculation. As for Jamie? Who says he is dead? Not I. I just said it was unlikely he'd be seen."

McCoy leaned back, his eyes narrowing.

"The Baltimore coroner's office had a body brought in a few days before Valenski's murder that matches Lefante's description. His sister is on her way to identify the body. Once that identification is made, I plan to have you changed with conspiracy to commit murder."

"McCoy you are annoying, the way a tiresome fly buzzing constantly around one's head is annoying," Esparza said, as he carefully ran a hand through his hair. "You even if you have a body – which I seriously doubt you do – I have the perfect alibi. I have been in prison since well before these murders were committed."

"I'm sure your friend Mr. Bruner has also told you how determined I can be when we're talking about murder."

Esparza nodded, leaning forward, his hands returning from his thick graying mane to the table, folded together.

Esparza clicked his tongue, in mock retribution.

"Come now, Mr. McCoy," he said in a voice so low McCoy unconsciously leaned in to hear Esparza. "You, yourself stand to benefit the most from this so called conspiracy. After all, you get the glory of sending a man a jury says is guilty of murder to prison – bad press about your personal life notwithstanding. That will leave the field free and clear for you to continue your dalliance with the beautiful Brooke. Of course, you'll most likely sacrifice your career, but man to man? That's a small price to pay for reclaiming what I'm sure you loins already are aching to possess again."

McCoy's eyes flashed ever so slightly, his mind recognizing the attempt to jar him. Esparza saw the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

As Prescott and Brooke abruptly ended their heated exchange, Cutter and Dworkin leapt towards the door. McCoy felt the shank penetrate his chest. Esparza lunged as far as the restrains would allow, holding onto McCoy via the sharpened toothbrush, until the guards pulled him off the bloody District Attorney.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

McCoy fought to remain conscious. He could hear the commands of the warden, as the facility went into lock down. He was looked up into Sam Prescott's troubled face. McCoy thought for a moment Prescott himself would pass out, given the paleness of the other man's face. Prescott pressed his jacket against McCoy's chest in an effort to stop the steady flow of blood.

"The infirmary is sending a doctor up," Prescott said reassuringly. "Just hang on, they won't be long."

McCoy heard what he thought was his voice, a sound just above a whisper, thanking the man. He thought he felt something damp…maybe more blood…on his shoulder. He tried to keep his eyes open as he made the effort to turn his head.

She was hysterical. He could see what was left of her eye make up steadily flowing down her cheeks. Brooke frantically ran a hand through his hair, the other hand pressing down on Prescott's to increase the pressure on McCoy's chest.

"He's still bleeding," Brooke nearly screamed at her husband through her sobs. "We can't let him bleed out, Sam. You have it do something…"

"Cutter where the hell is that doctor," Prescott snapped.

"He'll be here any second. Here," Cutter said adding another pair of hands to the effort. "Jack? Are you still with us?"

McCoy tried to nod his head, the effort to open his eyes growing rapidly more difficult. Finally, he was able to focus on Brooke's face. She met his disorientated gaze and gave him a shaky smile.

"Just had to be your macho self and butt in," she grasped, unable to stop her tears.

"On to me," he whispered.

"Was there ever any doubt," she said as she moved closer to his ear."No more talking. Just listen and save your strength."

McCoy weakly shook his head, the feeling of fatigue from the loss of blood making every effort to move a struggle.

"If I don't…tell..,"he breathed. "Becky, I love her…love you, too…"

"Stop it," she said as she cradled his head in her arms. "You're not going to leave me, Jack. I'll follow you to hell if you try."

Prescott looked up from the makes shift compress when he heard Brooke utter the same words she had so many years before. The last words he remembered before losing consciousness on the court house steps.

McCoy responded her words by slightly turning his lips upward. His eyes continued to watch her as the doctor and his assistant began examining the wound. His mind spun as he began to float in and out of consciousness. Esparza's taunting, the feel of the jagged edge breaking his skin, the raw terror in Brooke's eyes, all replayed in his head as he was moved onto a gurney.

"...Memorial is ninety minutes away…the bleeding has stopped, but the only way to be sure it doesn't start again is to get him sewn up…,"someone was saying.

"You can't take him to the hospital ward," a voice he recognized as Brooke's was frantically shouting. "A prisoner just attacked him with a guard not five feet away! What the hell do you think they'll do to him lying in a hospital bed?"

Next he heard his court room nemesis make an appeal that made McCoy inwardly chuckle.

"You people Medvaced one of my clients from here to Manhattan General last month," Dworkin interjected. "I suggest to do that now or I will personally see to it Mr. McCoy's daughter sues not only the prison, but you personally, for negligence."

8888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

The next sound he heard was the steady 'beep' of a heart monitor. Slowly he opened his eyes to find Brooke anxiously watching him. A relieved smile coming to her lips as she saw noticed his weary gaze.

"I called Becky. She and her mother were at a concert up in Portland. Becky just played her voice mail back. They should be here in another hour or so."

McCoy chuckled weakly as he thought of how many times his daughter had chastised for habit of checking his messages in a less than timely manner.

"How long have I been out?"

"Oh…"she said taking a glance at her watch. "It's nearly midnight. You got off easy. A lot of internal bleeding, but the shank missed your lung. A few stitches and some bed rest and you should be on your back to being the opinionated, hot headed, stubborn SOB we all know and love."

McCoy pursed his lips together, the dull achiness that filled his upper body causing him to stifle his laughter.

"Marry me."

Brooke's eyes widened as a slow smile came to her face.

"That would make me a bigamist. Besides, given those nice things you implied the last time-"

"Male pride," he said weakly squeezing her hand. "Thought I'd lost you…can't let that happen-"

"Jack, you couldn't lose me if you tried," she said as she pressed a finger to his lips. "But you've got to rest. No more talking, at least save some strength for when Becky gets here."

McCoy took a deep breath, slowly letting it out as he felt the tightness in his chest. His eyes began to close as he nodded. His mind like a poorly cut film. Scenes from the day in and out of sequence ran through his consciousness. He remembered Esparza's finger on Brookes hand…the comments about Prescott, as well as Bruner…the way Esparza ran his hand through his hair…

"Bruner…"McCoy muttered his tone agitated and urgent. "Bruner connects…"

Brooke moved closer, laying her head next to McCoy mouth.

"Jack? Honey, what is it?"

…_.Esparza knows Bruner,_ McCoy said to himself. _Bruner has to know… it has to connect…_

"Tell Cutter," McCoy said his voice groggy, struggling to make it through a sentence. "Tell him…pull Bruner…all of Bruner's visitors…"


	26. Chapter 26

Detective Mike Logan handed EADACutter the copies of the visitors log at Sing Sing Prison.

"Looks like McCoy's onto something."Logan said as Cutter read the highlighted passages. "Bruner's last six visits were from associates of the Esparza crime family."

"Have you and Green been able to locate any of them?"

"Yeah, Ed and I interviewed Ramon Prado this morning – the guy Suffolk County linked to Prescott's missing gun. He admitted Bruner had passed on orders from Esparza to go through the house for whatever they could use to incriminate Prescott. He also gave us the name of Valenski's actual shooter."

Cutter gave Logan a sideways glance while he guffawed.

"What did you guys promise him for _that_," Cutter demanded as he moved Logan's coffee cup out of reach of the detective,"or should I be expecting to hear allegations of police brutality before Connie can even get Prado arraigned?"

" Cute. We promised the usual," Logan replied shrewdly. "A house in the Hamptons, hot and cold running girls, and an unlimited stash of drugs. What do you _think_ we offered? We offered him full immunity and relocation out of state if the principals are convicted. All contingent on approval from your office."

Cutter slid the cup back to Logan.

"Nice to hear. There for a second, I thought you'd gotten yourself a law degree."

"No chance of that, counselor," Logan said with a grin. "I like being able to look in the mirror in the morning. Besides I wouldn't want to put you and McCoy out of business."

"I'm sure Jack will sleep better when I give him the news."

"So where do things stand for Prescott? Ed tells me Judge Bradley granted the defense a short continuance."

Cutter nodded.

"That's right. In light of the new evidence, as well as Jack's stabbing, Bradley gave Dworkin seventy two hours to bring him new evidence. Continuance is up at three p.m. today. With what you've brought me, I'm sure Jack will advise me to present the Judge with a motion to drop the charges against Prescott and refile the charges when you have the shooter Prado named in custody."

Logan turned as they heard a tap on the door. Both men stood up as Brooke Prescott cautiously opened the door to Cutter's office.

"Mike, I'm sorry," she said as she began to back out of the room. "The receptionist was away from her desk. I didn't realize Detective Logan was-"

"No, no Brooke," Cutter said motioning to the chair beside Logan. "Your timing couldn't be better. Logan here was just bringing me up to speed on-"

"Excuse me counselor," Logan said uncomfortably. "I know the case is on its last leg, but discussing evidence in an ongoing investigation with a civilian-"

"Perfectly legitimate concern, detective," Brooke said as she sat down and crossed her legs. "However, I am not here as the defendants wife _or_ the DA's girlfriend. I am here at the request of the Suffolk County DA. It appears some of the principals in the Valenski case committed crimes in Suffolk County to further this conspiracy. My DA wants an update from the Manhattan office."

As the two men took their seats Logan smiled apologetically.

"My mistake."

"We all make them, detective. So what's the good word on Mark Bruner," Brooke asked as she reached down to retrieve a legal pad and pen from her briefcase.

"So see if I've got this right," Brooke said nearly an hour later. "When we put all the pieces together it looks like this: Esparza heard about Valenski's appeal. He knew if Valenski was back on the outside, he would be a real threat to Esparza's drug and prostitution business in New York County. So, he decides to kill two birds with one stone. He uses what he knows about Sam being alive to make the hit look like Sam could be responsible. Thus, getting revenge on both Sam and myself. When he looks for a decoy to pass information to his men on the hit, he hooks up with Bruner. Bruner fills Esparza in on _his_ grudge against Jack and the two cut a deal. Bruner will pass on the information and if Esparza's sick little hunch is right, that the three of us will eventually put enough together to try to confront him, Esparza will shank Jack if the opportunity presents it self," Brooke said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Logan sighed as he turned to her. Logan had warmed up to the Suffolk ADA within the first five minutes of listening to her speak and well as watching her speak.

"Listen Brooke, it does sound pretty twisted. But you know as well as Cutter and I do these Mafioso types are pretty sick puppies."

"Agreed," she said with amusement. "But so much was left to chance. The gun, the chances of Jack even being in the room. I don't know. It's going to be a tough sale at trial, even with Prado's cooperation."

Logan's eyes widen. He opened his mouth to ask a question and then closed it, as he seemed to falter.

"Detective," she said curiously. "You seem to have gone shy on us."

Brooke reached over and placed her hand on his forearm while Cutter watched the scene with quiet amusement.

"Now, Mike. May I call you Mike? Jack's told me enough about you that I know, shy is not a word most people use to describe Mike Logan. Just say what you want to say."

Cutter laughed in spite of himself as Logan turned several shades of red.

"I was going to say I might not be such a great idea for you to be prosecuting the case yourself, given you connection to Esparza and some of the others."

"You're right again, detective. I won't be. My superior, Mr. Renard, will be the lead on this case and ADA Cohen will be second chairing. My superiors knew I had personal business to attend to in Manhattan, so they asked me to handle this meeting. I'll be turning my notes over to the lead when I return to Islip."

Cutter handed Brooke the file he'd been reviewing.

"Your copies of the lab work, statements, etcetera. If you won't be involved in this case, I assume you'll have some equally big fish to fry."

Brooke shrugged her shoulders as she gathered her things.

"Not of a professional nature," she said, this time her cheeks were the ones glowing."I have a meeting to sign papers in your civil litigations department; can you tell me which floor that's on?"

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Sam Prescott watched as Brooke took a seat across from him in the second floor conference room. As the mediator went through the stack of papers, the pair periodically nodded. Occasionally one of them would correct a mistake on the list of assets to divide. This silver pocket watch belonged on his list, not hers. Her mother's antique dressing table should have been on her list, not his. The minor, painstakingly trivial items that were necessary evils when a marriage was dissolved.

"All right," the nervous looking man that sat at the head of the small table said with a sigh. "That takes you both through the property. Now, Mr. Prescott, you're still in agreement regarding the sale of said property and the distribution of said assets after New York Life has been paid in full-"

"No," he said stubbornly. "I have repeatedly told Mrs. Prescott I want to take sole responsibility for that debt. In fact, if I have to tell her again, I'm not gonna sign the damn papers."

The younger man's eyes widened as he turned to gauge Brooke's reaction. Brookes flipped through the pages and nearly threw her copy across the table.

"And what hell is _this,_" she demanded as she glared back at Prescott. "_I_ told _you _the grounds I agreed to are irreconcilable differences. To claim desertion under the circumstances would be vindictive and petty, neither of which I am."

"Then prove at and stop splitin' hairs."

The back and forth banter continued, each remark escalating both the volumes and the emotions of the participants. Finally, Prescott turned to the now petrified mediator and commanded him to 'Vamoose.'

The mediator looked to Brooke for assistance. She nodded and pointed to the door.

"We won't be long, Jason."

"Why the hell would that kid care how long we yell at each other? He's bein' paid by the hour. We could be finance his early retirement if you keep bein' so damn stubborn," Prescott said as the door closed.

"You can save the bravado for when Jason comes back. You know all it does is just annoy the hell out _me_," she replied as she picked up the packet. "I'm not signing papers that say you deserted me and I'm not letting you start a new life with debt that will make it impossible for you to survive."

"I don't want you to lose the house," he said firmly. "If we call it desertion you have a better chance at the insurance company taking a partial payment. You talked to a lawyer. I know I'm right."

Brooke sighed as she looked into the eyes that met hers. Eyes that were tired and defeated. It was a look Prescott had maintained since the morning they made love. The morning they made love and his wife's love for Jack Mc Coy was confirmed beyond any doubt – reasonable or not.

Prescott had heard her words, although at the time, he chose to indulge himself in a few more minutes of his own precious fantasy. When he finally had opened his eyes, the look on Brooke's face had left no doubt in his mind that she was no longer his.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry Sam," she had said over and over again in almost a prayerful chant. Each time the words cut a little deeper into his heart.

By the time he had gotten over his shock she was gone. She had dressed in frenzy without stopping to brush her hair or shower. He could feel her desperation as the front door had slammed and felt powerless to do anything to stop it.

By the time she had returned to him, it was dark. When she quietly tapped on the door of the guest room he had hoped she was ready to talk about the future. Instead, she tightly held herself, refusing to leave the doorway, as she filled him in on what she, Cohen, and McCoy had discussed. Upon hearing she'd seen McCoy, Prescott's patience had given out. Angry, hurtful words flowed from his mouth. His usually fiery and spirited wife standing and doing nothing but holding herself finally silenced him. Seeing her look like a victim, instead of the fighter he'd always known her to be, made him weep afterwards.

But the final blow. The blow that had made him initiate divorce proceedings occured at the prison. Although everyone involved had been in a panic when Jack McCoy was laying helpless have the stabbing, Prescott could see what he had missed on the courthouse steps,the day he had been shot. The look on her face as if life itself would stop the second Jack McCoy seized to exist.

"Sam," Brooke said with concern in her voice. "I know this is awful. Maybe we should slow down and do this after-"

Prescott refocused on the papers that sat in front of him, finally looking back up at Brooke.

"Darlin' you know I'd stay married to you as long as you wanted me to. But the plain truth is, you found love again. If I stay married to you, it'll only destroy what we had. My God, look at us," he said waving a hand at the papers. "I don't think we yelled this much the entire time we were together. I want it done. I want to get out of your way and let you take things with McCoy as far as you see fit."

"Sam, you've never been in my way," she said reaching for his hand. "Even if I had never met Jack,you and I still would have a lot to face after-"

"Yeah, I know. Five years is a long time. Maybe, after awhile…after I get settled on Albany…what ever happens I'm here for you Mal," he said as he patted her hand. " Whatever you need when McCoy drives you to distraction, you call me. But for now, let's just get this thing done. I'm due in the trial part at three."

"I figured we'd walk over together. I know the motion to dismiss is just a formality, but I'd still like to see Judge Bradley grant it," Brooke said.

She noticed the way Prescott looked downwards. It took a moment for Prescott's discomfort to register. Brooke lifted his chin and waited for an explanation.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," he finally responded awkwardly. "It means a lot to me that you want to be there. But, you see…actually it was Randy's idea and you know how he is when is gets an idea..."

Brooke waited, gesturing for him to continue, as he curiosity got the best of her.

"Aw hell... I have a date," he blurted out.

Brooke laughed at his discomfort, not quite sure how to react to his admission.

"Well, good luck," she said at last. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You are a signature away from being a free man."

Prescott cheeks reddened.

"Well that's not quite true, but Randy seems to think it's high time I dove back into the single end of the pond."

"Well, if it gets serious, you know the ex has to give the new woman the treatment," she joked.

"Well," he said with a sigh."We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"So, who is the lucky lady?"

"Well, I s'pose I better tell you before McCoy gets wind of it," he grumbled."The lady in question seems to be a friend of his. Apparently, she's one of the few women that he's had occasion to work with, that he hasn't charmed," Prescott said wink.

Brooke softly laughed as she mentally flipped through a list of women she knew to be McCoy's former assistants. Suddenly her jaw dropped and her eyes grew wide.

"Mal, what are you thinkin'?"

"You're going out with Abbie," she said uncertainly.

This time Prescott laughed, as well.

"Come on – Abbie_ Carmichael_? She's young enough to be my daughter! No, this lady is a defense attorney. Real spit fire the way Randy tells it."

"Going over to the other side of the aisle are we? Now, you have to tell!"

"My God woman, you sound almost as excited as Randy. Her name is Danielle," he said thoughtfully. "Danielle Rose-"

"Melnick?"


	27. Chapter 27

McCoy gave Brooke his sideways 'you're not serious' look.

"It appears you're less than thrilled," she asked as she set his overnight bag on the wing chair.

McCoy flopped down on his sofa and stared at the grandfather clock, flabbergasted.

"Hell of thing to hear not two minutes after you get home from the hospital," he sputtered.

"Well I have to admit, I did have a mental image of the four of us having dinner at_ Gino's_ that was pretty frightening. But, after I had a chance to think about it," she said rolling her shoulders,"I can see Sam and Danielle being good for each other."

"It's not _them_ I'm worried about," McCoy quipped. "It's those around them that will have to deal with the Five Stages of Love Melnick goes through when she gets involved."

Brooke laid her jacket on the back of the sofa. She sat down beside McCoy and carefully helped him slip his jacket off, placing on top of hers.

"Five Stages of Love? I thought it was grief that had five stages," she said seriously.

"Apparently with Danielle, it's the same thing," McCoy said dryly.

"Let's see," she said ignoring his sarcasm. "Obviously the first on must be euphoria?"

McCoy nodded as he slipped an arm around her.

"Obviously," he repeated as he gently kissed her lips.

"Followed, no doubt, by lust, "she said, seductively leaning in for the next kiss.

"After the glow where's off…there's companionship?"

"Complacency," he corrected.

Brooke wrinkled her forehead.

"Humm…guess we're still at number two," she said giving him a peck.

"Yes dear," he teased, attempting to move out of range of the smack on the arm, that followed.

"All right, that's three," she said, as she ran a hand through her hair. "Euphoria, lust, complacency…you're the one with the trail of broken hearts…what's next?"

McCoy sighed.

"You know, Danielle is a very demanding woman, but she also has a big heart. Once Sam gets to -"

Brooke ran a hand lightly over his blue demin shirt and carefully undid the first few buttons.

"A big heart," she said softly, as she carefully traced the pattern of stitches that trialed slightly left of center down his chest, "sounds like someone I know."

"Not me. I've been told I have no heart."

They both laughed softly as Brooke slipped her hand across his chest, resting it on a steady beat.

"Hidden, but not missing," she said with a grin. "Now, about those last two stages..."

"Not going to let it go, are you?"

"If it was _your_ ex seeing a friend of _mine_, would _you_ let it go?"

After another heavy sigh, he shook his head.

"Euphoria, lust, complacency, remake, and disillusionment."

Brooke stared at him in disbelief. She'd met Danielle Melnick several times at fucntions she had attended with McCoy. His statement didn't ring true of the passionate, driven, committed woman she found Melnick to be.

"What am I missing, "she asked shrewdly.

"Well…maybe Danielle had a little help coming up with the concept," he said with a slight smile.

Brooke gave him a knowing look as she lay back on the opposite side of the sofa.

"No wonder people think you have no heart. Helping her through a break up were you?"

"Mutual misery," he replied. "Profound thoughts after my second divorce, her third broken engagement – two her choice, the last one the grooms. It all seemed so clear after the first bottle of scotch was empty."

"God, you are a piece of work, McCoy," she said as she abruptly went into the kitchen.

"That's what Danielle said when I came up with remake – you know – that stage where you try to make each other 'better'. You redecorate their house, buy them that dress or tie that they wouldn't be caught dead in , but they wear it to please the other person," he said, as he turned towards the kitchen. "Brooke, don't bother with the stuff in the sink. I'll deal with them in the morning."

Brooke ignored him and turned the water on full force.

McCoy continued his banter about the stages, explaining the difference between complacency and companionship. He took great pride in convincing Melnick that companionship was but a step towards complacency. McCoy glanced at the grandfather clock and frowned. When he had left for Sing Sing at the start of the week, he had left a cup -maybe two - in the sink.

As he walked towards the kitchen he could see the cups hadn't been touched. McCoy flushed with shame when he belatedly remembered the reason his lover had seen Sam Prescott that afternoon.

"You had you first settlement meeting today, didn't you," he asked regretfully, as he turned her towards him."I don't know what to say."

McCoy took a step back. Instead of the tears he had expected, he was met with a look of utter contempt.

"Well, God knows it won't be 'I apologize'."

"It was thoughtless of me to trivialize love, especially today. When you told me about Sam and Danielle, it made me think of that idiotic …I apologize," he said as he moved to take her in his arms.

Brooke turned the water off and slipped out of the kitchen in one flowing motion.

"When is Becky coming," she asked picking up her jacket.

"She's taking the first train in tomorrow. Should put her at my door by nine," he said as he watched with regret as she slipped the jacket on a picked up her briefcase. "The divorce, it's harder than you expected, isn't it?"

"Nah. Reducing eight years of marriage to property agreements and dividing assets," she replied bitterly. "It's a piece of cake."

McCoy remembered the feelings well…the anger…the sense of failure...as well the deep sense of loss. The pain he saw in her eyes was like a mirror of his own pain not too many years earlier.

"Brooke, listen. You don't owe me anything," he said as he took her hands in his. "If you're having second thoughts-"

"It's not a matter of second thoughts. I just feel like I'm on overload, Jack," she impatiently tugging her hands away from him.

She started out the door, then turned back to him.

"I mean, I don't even know what to call myself anymore.I always liked my maiden name – ethnic, strong, hard for defense counsel to spell on a complaint form – but it's not who I am anymore," she said thoughtfully. "Yet, keeping Prescott…that just seems so…so hypocritical. Maybe I need to pull a 'Cher' and just be done with it."

McCoy pulled her into an embrace,as he kicked the door closed.

"You could always take McCoy," he said quietly.

She looked up at him and touched his cheek.

"I thank you for that,Jack. But I wasn't fishing for a proposal."

"I know that," he said with a smile. "Remember, it's not the first time I've asked you."

Brooke blinked, startled that McCoy had any recollection of the question that had gone unanswered. As sincere as she knew he'd been at the time, Brooke had deliberately avoided any mention of McCoy's earlier proposal, certain that it had been induced by medication and shock after the stabbing. She impatiently wiped her eyes as she reached up to kiss him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly."I guess the last month or two is finally getting to me."

"I've been wondering how you made it this long," he admitted as he ran his fingers through her hair. "Life's too short for second guessing, Brooke. We've talked about a future together before. Maybe it's time to stop talking and act."

"Come on, you've been on your feet too long. You need to take your pain pill," she said as she guided him towards the sofa. "Why don't you relax? I'll get the pills and make some tea, and then we can talk."

McCoy silently followed her instructions. He knew Brooke was trying to buy time and he could guess why. Patiently, he waited her out. When she handed him the pill and tea cup, he set them on the end table and gently pulled her to him.

"Are you still upset about Danielle and me or do you doubt the sincerity of my proposal?"

Brooke shook her head as she looked down into her tea cup, as if the answers to all her problems could be found at its bottom.

"Your thin layer of cynicism makes you you," she said thoughtfully. "I've always seem it for what it was and when I don't have so much coming at me, I _do_ find it endearing."

"Understood. I can work on it, at least for the time being."

Brooke looked up suspiciously.

"I suppose that automatically moves us to stage four? The remake stage?"

"Hardly and you usually are better at dodging than this, which leads me to think either you don't want to marry me or you're unsure of me. Which is it, Brooke?"

Brooke remembered the almost daughterly concern Serena Southerlyn had shown several months earlier when she came by Brooke's office looking for Jake Cohen. The young woman had nothing but kind things to say about her former boss. While the two women had made polite conversation as Southerlyn waited for McCoy to return from a disposition, Southerlyn had felt obliged to fill Brooke in on McCoy's main reason for supporting gay marriage.

_..let them marry. Why shouldn't they be miserable like the rest of us?..._

McCoy's cynical view of marriage hadn't come as a real surprise. Several months before when Brooke had been staying with McCoy on Manhattan she had gone for drinks another of his former assistants. Even Rubirosa had made an off hand remark about McCoy's ambivalence to a third marriage, after the pair had been greeted by Alyssa Goodwin.

Brooke could still remember the legendary divorce attorney sizing her up when Rubirosa reluctantly introduced them.

"_Well, it's nice have the chance to put a face on the woman The Ledger refers to as the future Mrs. Jack McCoy," Goodwin had said a her hand brushed Brooke's. "When marriage number three hits the rocks, give me a call. I'll give you the two for one discount, seeing as I made sure the second Mrs. McCoy came out ahead on the settlement."_

"_Right," Rubrirosa interjected snidely. "Like that's ever gonna happen. Jack talks like he'd rather swallow drain cleaner than get married again after what you did to him in court."_

Brooke felt an involuntary shiver go through her. Between his friends and her own good friend Ben Stone, Brooke had found it hard to believe there would ever be a proposal a all.

"I don't doubt your love for me, Jack," she said at last. "I doubt either one of us is equipped to make another major life change any time in the near future. My God, you just survived another near death experience. Whether you realize it or not, you have to be reacting to that on some level. I know I'm still reacting to seeing you laying there….thinking you were going to bleed to death..."

"Getting married again is the _last _thing I'd suggest if I was looking for a way to feel alive," he said in frustration.

"That's good, because getting married again to get over this divorce, is the last thing I'd suggest," she said as she grabbed her purse from the coffee table.

"Don't expect me to beg you to accept my offer," he said stubbornly.

"Don't expect me to settle for an offer obviously made under duress," she countered as she opened the door.

"An offer you clearly have no intention of accepting," he bellowed.

Brooke turned to face him. Both their faces were bright and animated. Both knew where the storm of angry challenges came from, but neither were willing to change course.

"An offer made in bad faith, is no offer at all," she said.

The conversation ending with the slam of the door.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

_**Note to readers: **I am killing time waiting for jury duty to start, so I am away from my computer. Can't edit this into as new chapter so I'm going on. Sorry for the length on this one, but desperate times...Mccoylover_

Brooke dropped her purse on the bar and asked the bartender for a Bailey's and coffee.

As much as she wanted a shot of tequila, she recognized the pattern she's developed over the last few months. She silently swore she wasn't going to fall into the bottle over a divorce _or_ Jack McCoy.

"Son of bitch isn't worth it," she muttered as she brought the mug to her lips.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," the sure sounding voice beside her replied.

"And here I thought you and Jack were best buddies," she said giving Mike Logan a knowing smile.

Logan burst out with a hearty laugh that put Brooke immediately at ease.

"Cutter said you were a pistol. Mind if I join you or is Prince Blarney on his way down?"

"That's 'PrinceCharming', Logan," Brooke retorted as she gestured for him to sit. "As for the seat, it's all yours. A pain pill more than likely has Jack out for the night."

"Cutter said he was coming home today," Logan said somberly after he placed his order with bartender. "How's McCoy holding up?"

"Like anyone who's had a brush with death," she said thoughtfully stirring her coffee. "Physically he's got some aches and pains, but he's grateful for them, considering the alternative."

Logan picked looked curiously over the rim of the beer mug.

"I image he's not the only one that's grateful?"

Pondering the scene at the prison a week before, she could feel her pulse quicken. She looked up from the coffee into the eyes that suddenly seemed softer.

"I thought Jack McCoy scared the hell out of me the first time he kissed me. That day at the prison, I remembered what scared_ really_ felt like."

Logan nodded.

"Counselor, let me tell you a secret about our current DA," Logan said in low voice as he leaned over. "McCoy scares serial killers. But when push comes to shove, ninety percent of it boils down to attitude. He's like that lady dog trainer in England… what's her name?"

"You think Jack McCoy acquired skill at establishing a presence from Barbara Wodehouse," she asked with amusement.

Logan vigorously shook his head.

"Wodehouse – the 's_it_!' lady? That's the one," he said seriously. "That's McCoy's approach to life. That arrogant tough guy attitude of his? Just a guy who knows if you refuse to blink, nine times out of ten the other guy will back down. Just like when old Barbara stares down a pit bull. Same thing McCoy does when he wants his way. Survival instinct."

"What happens when Jack meets the rare individual that acts on the same instinct?"

Logan grinned.

"He falls for her."

Brooke turned away, looking down at the bar in embarrassment.

_What the hell am I doing,_ she asked herself. _Sitting in a bar, telling Mike Logan – almost a virtual stranger – about my love life? God, I can't even blame it on the alcohol! _

Logan patted her hand, sensing her discomfort.

"Don't feel bad counselor, there's just something about me that makes women want to talk to me about other guys."

Brooke looked sharply into the warm blue eyes, feeling his hand on hers. One look at Logan assured her his gesture wasn't a preemptive move towards a feeble come on. She relaxed and found herself laughing at his self despairing comment.

"Well, I must admit you are surprisingly easy to talk to, Logan. It must make it easy for you to charm confessions out of suspects."

"It's that Irish thing," he said modestly.

"There _is _that," she said with a laugh that made Logan's grin return. "So tell me, given the fact you're a nice looking guy that's got the whole Irish thing down pat, why are you sitting in a bar across from Grand Central at nine eleven on a Friday night talking to a woman who is not only unavailable, but unavailable because she's involved with that son of a bitch Jack McCoy?"

The image of Claire Kincaid's beguiling smile fleetingly ran through the detectives mind as he thought about Brooke's question. Although Kincaid had never admitted in so many words that she and McCoy were involved, Logan along with most of the detectives at the 2 7, had solved the mystery of how far the EADA's feelings for his assistant extended by just observing the couple.

"I have ulterior motives," replied with a playful wink.

Brooke could feel her cheeks warm as she bit her lip and waited.

"When I came in and saw you sitting here alone, I figured this was my chance to find out exactly how McCoy does it."

Brooke laughed understanding Logan's meaning immediately.

"This is a burning issue for you," she asked with a chuckle.

"Not just for me. This is a burning issue for any guy that's been around long enough to see the number of beautiful, normally intelligent women that seem to take one look at the man and suddenly act like arrogance in an aphrodisiac."

"It must be the fedora," Brooke said through her laughter.

Logan laughed along with her and shook his head.

"Nice try, but McCoy's been batting a thousand long before he started looking like Elliot Ness."

This time, Brooke reached out for Logan's hand, as she leaned towards him.

"Now, I'll tell you a secret, detective-"

"First, if we're going to be co conspirators, maybe you better call me Mike."

"I hate that damn hat, Mike," she deadpanned. "Makes Jack look like he's been buying his clothes at the mission."

Logan threw his head back. Back the time he could speak again, his sides were aching.

"You two want another round?"

After agreeing to split an order of potato skins and ordering another round, Logan shook his head.

"Buying his clothes at the mission," Logan repeated with a chuckle. "You tell him that?"

"Oh, hell no," she said seriously. "If I start that, the next thing you know he's going to give me grief about my Stanford sweatshirts and my favorite pair of sneakers, which I've had since college."

"I figured you two were well into the remake stage by now…what? Did I hit a nerve," Logan asked as he watched the blood drain out of her face.

"Either you're psychic or Jack posted his relationship map in every men's room in Manhattan," she snapped through clenched teeth.

Logan's eyes widened with understanding.

"Oh, geez. Don't tell me you two had 'the talk' the night you brought him home from the hospital, "he asked, stunned.

Brooke shook her head. As they ate, she described her conversation with McCoy. Logan waited for her to finish before giving her a knowing look. A look that, for a brief second, reminded her of the wisdom Jake Cohen always seemed to find so easily when she confided in him.

"So, let me get this straight," Logan said slowly. "You are ending a marriage to a guy you thought was the love of your life, pretty much, because you fell in love with McCoy. He's asked you to marry him, not once, but twice, and you basically told him to go to hell because of a joke?"

"It's more complicated than that," she said defensively, beating him to the last potato skin on the plate.

"It always is," he said with a sigh, while keeping his eye on the potato skin.

"God, Mike. You really want to hear this," she said, relenting as she offering him half of the skin.

Logan smiled and popped the appetizer in his mouth.

"If you want to talk about it, I want to hear about it."

"He asked me under duress. I mean, he could have died! I can't hold him to anything he says right now."

"Except bad jokes," Logan offered gently.

Brookes looked down at the empty plate.

"Is it McCoy that scares you or just marriage?"

"Logan – your mother wasn't a _Cohen_ by any chance?"

Logan gave her a puzzled look. Brooke waved a hand, still almost hearting Jake Cohen's self satisfied tone in Logan's last remark. All Logan needed was the knowing grin and the two men could have been distant cousins.

"Never mind. I know firsthand how rewarding a good marriage can be, Mike. I know how blessed I am to have found that kind of love again. But we both know if Sam hadn't come back, neither of us would be discussing marriage."

"Ah, so it's a pride thing," Logan said smugly.

"It's a 'I don't know what the hell I'm doing' thing," she blurted out. "Mike, I'm a overwhelmed. My house, my marriage ... my life is up in the air."

"Second thoughts about the divorce?"

"I knew I couldn't stay married to Sam, almost immediately after he came back," Brooke responded thoughtfully. " But that doesn't mean I stopped loving him. I loved that man more than life itself…I still can't believe how quickly I knew we couldn't go back. But to rush into another marriage…especially knowing Jack's not ready either..."

Logan slipped a handkerchief from his jacket pocket.

"Never thought I'd say this, but you're not giving him enough credit," he said sympathetically. "I know McCoy. Hell, I know _men_. If he wasn't sure, he wouldn't have asked you."

Before Brooke could reply the ringing of her cell phone interrupted her thoughts. She looked at the caller ID and over back at Logan. Logan mouthed his guess at the caller identity and Brooke stuck out her tongue.


	28. Chapter 28

"Are you sure it's okay for you to eat junk food your first night home?"

McCoy grinned as he dipped a potato skin into the Styrofoam container of Boston clam chowder.

"If being shanked, as well as eating hospital food for the last 72 hours didn't kill me, I doubt a couple skins and a bowl of_ Flannigan's _white will," he said picking up his spoon. "I'm glad I caught you before you left town. When I called you, I figured you'd be half way to Islip."

Brooke sat across from him at the kitchen table. She watched him take a few more mouthfuls of the soup and smiled at his obvious enjoyment.

"Beats IV's and hospital food, does it," she asked, as she reached for his free hand.

"A can of spam would beat IV's and hospital food," McCoy retorted as he squeezed her hand. "I'm glad you came back."

"You're just saying that because you wanted some real food,"she said with smirk.

"I acted badly,"McCoy responded with sudden seriousness."The last thing I wanted to do tonight was fight with you."

"It takes two to fight… well, except when its people like us... doing the fighting. There's certainly enough blame to go around this time. You just got home. I should have backed off. After all, it's not everyday a girl is proposed to by Jack McCoy."

"Well, the timing could have been better."

Brooke listened carefully as the conversation continued. Each party taking on more of the blame and each increasingly apologetic. Such concilitory tones was more than a little unusual for a conversation between the couple. Finally, McCoy risked another confrontation, his curiousity getting the better of him.

"Brooke, when you stopped at_ Flanagan's, _did you… you weren't…did you call Jake?"

Brooke shook her head.

"I ran into Mike Logan. We split an order of skins," she said thoughtfully.

McCoy's eyes widened and he looked at her curiously.

"You were with Mike _Logan_?"

Brooke laughed at the perplexed tone and expression on her lover's face.

"God, Jack! I wasn't _'with'_ him in the biblical sense! Besides, I suspect you had a sounding board, as well. Who was it?"

McCoy gave her a horrified look as he pondered the possibilities the words 'sounding board' and the name 'Mike Logan' when used in the same sentence brought to mind.

"Jack," Brooke said gently shaking him out of his thoughts. "Who did you talk to?"

"Danielle," he admitted quietly.

"_Danielle_," Brooke said with the same confusion McCoy had a moment before. "I thought she was on a date with my soon to be ex husband?"

"She was. Well, she was on her way. She called to talk to you. I think she wanted the inside story on Sam before she met him. Anyway, when I told her you weren't here, it wasn't hard for her to draw the right conclusions. She gave me her own special brand of hell, before making it her mission to plan our reconciliation."

"Well," Brooke said pensively. "What kind of advise _did_ Danielle give you?"

McCoy stood to take the empty take out cartons to the trash can.

"Danielle said I was sabotaging a good thing," he said bluntly. "That no woman in her right mind would accept proposals made under the circumstances I'd made them and that I was lucky you hadn't put me back in the hospital after the 'Five Stages of Love' revelation."

"I knew there was a reason I liked Danielle," Brooke responded as she slipped the dirty spoon into the dishwasher.

"What about Logan," McCoy demanded he turned the kitchen light off. "I'm sure Mike had some real jewels of wisdom to share."

"Actually, he did," she said as they walked into the master bedroom.

McCoy looked at her expectantly, as they sat together on the bed. Brooke thought about her conversation and Logan's parting words.

"He said you never would have asked me to marry you if you weren't sure, that I wasn't giving you enough credit, and that I needed to tell you how completely overwhelmed I am and why. He said you are not a mind reader, even if defense counsel often swears you are."

McCoy stared at her a moment, processing what he deemed to be the unthinkable. Brooke had confided in _Mike Logan_. Mike Logan traded in his wise ass routine and become…insightful?!?

"I think I understand why you're overwhelmed," he finally said, as he put an arm around her shoulders. "But, maybe I should hear it from you?"

"Jack I haven't been so unsure of the future since I was starting college," she said softly. "My whole life is about to change. You know once the house sells, it is unlikely I'll find a place in Long Island. Anything I'll be able to afford at current market prices is probably going to mean a long commute or finding another job. I haven't done a job interview in almost twenty years. There's only one thing I'm really sure of right now."

"Which is?"

Brooke looked down at the quilt on the bed as she ran a hand along his cheek.

"My love for you."

McCoy reached for her hand as he smiled.

"Then, marry me."

Brooke looked up into dark eyes that held a look of such warmth she could feel her heart melt, as it often did, when they were alone together.

"Don't you think I want to, Jack?"

"Would I keep asking, if I didn't? I just hope they're right about the third time being the charm," he said with a grin, "and before you accuse me of asking you while under the influence I want you to know, I haven't had any alcohol or drugs this evening. I haven't even taken a pain pill yet."

Brooke smiled back at him and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I would be proud to be your wife."

McCoy leaned in and kissed her gently on the lips. He could feel Brooke's hands on his neck, then in his hair. He pulled her close, as the kiss grew more passionate and the pair fell back onto the bed. When they finally broke the kiss, they were laying side by side. McCoy gazed into her eyes, intensely searching her face.

"But," he asked with quiet amusement.

"_But_, weren't you the guy that woke up literally screaming, when you had that nightmare about us getting married in Atlantic City?"

McCoy laughed at the memory of the nightmare they both had begun to refer to as 'The Wedding from Hell" due to its vivid content and musical overtones. McCoy waved a dismissive hand.

"That was then, this is now. Brooke, ever since Sam returned, I've tried to give you the space I thought you needed," he said seriously. "I didn't want push you. I know you thought that was generous, but it wasn't. I thought if I pushed you, I'd push you back into Sam's arms even sooner than…"

Brooke looked at him uncertainly. The look he gave her back reminded her so much of a young boy. A young boy seeking approval. She was ashamed she hadn't realized sooner, what was so obvious at that moment.

"You thought I'd stay with Sam."

"That day at_ Rachel's_," he said looking away from her. "The day I was so miserable to you? When I realized you'd slept with him, I … I thought I'd lost you."

McCoy wrapped himself around her as he kissed her once more. Brooke responded to his kiss by pressing herself closer to him. As he ran his hands over her, Brooke realized how long it had been since they had made love. She knew this was a conversation they needed to finish, but she wasn't sure how long she could ignore what was quickly becoming a physical ache, to be with him in the most basic way...to leave no doubt in either of their minds they belonged to each other completely.

As if he'd read her thoughts, McCoy reluctantly, pulled back.

"You realize this is just a brief postphonement," he asked as his fingers began undoing the buttons on her blouse."This conversation isn't over."

"We can talk and touch," she said suggestively, while she ran a hand up his thigh.

"Not if we do the touching right," he said with a soft laugh, as he blouse dropped to the floor.

Brooke laughed as well, as she eagerly unbuttoned his shirt.

"Before this goes too far," she said cautiously, "you're sure you're up to this? We won't pull any stitches or-"

McCoy silenced her with another kiss as her bra and his shirt were discarded. Whether it was the intensity of his mouth on hers, the emotions of the past few hours, or the fact they hadn't make love in over a month; by the time the last garment found the floor they were both touching and tasting each other in a hurried frenzy .

Usually a teasingly slow lover, McCoy found himself exercising every bit of self control he had to not immediately push himself inside the warm, slippery, smoothness between his lovers legs. McCoy made an effort to slow his curious fingers, as well as his breathing. He closed his eyes as the pleasure he felt from Brooke's demanding caresses almost overwhelmed him.

"You better slow down," he whispered. "Unless you want-"

"I _want_," she replied imploringly.

McCoy opened his eyes. The look on her face immediately ended any uncertainty he felt.

"Tell me," he whispered seductively as he spooned his partner, one hand alternately fondling the tips of her breasts, as two fingers effortlessly slid inside her.

Her gasp of pleasure was all he needed to increase the thrusting of his fingers. He could feel her hands frantically groping, searching behind her for him.

"I want you…now," she cried out as her body rubbed against his. "I…want you to have me…now, Jack!"

McCoy ravished her with kisses and caresses as he drove himself inside her. Brooke's back arched as she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder, as the rest of her body fell immediately into the rhythm of McCoy's thrusts. The feel of her backside sensuously rocking against his abdomen, only served to intensify his desire to please her.

"God, I've ached for you," he said, his lips pressed against her ear.

"Yours…I'm yours, Jack… always, only, yours,"she whispered as pressed herself against him.

"God what you do to me," he answered as he pushed deep within her, feeling her body stiffen against him.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"You know I wanted to have you there and then, when you made that comment in the courtroom," he said as his hand gently caressed her hip.

"You mean when I questioned your idea of reasonable bail," she replied, innocently.

"No. Not the bail hearing. At the venue hearing, when you remarked on what excites me."

Brooke smiled up at him.

"Come on Jack, you know I never dish out more than you can take," she countered as she snuggled against him.

"Maybe that's why I think we have a chance of making a marriage work," he said as he kissed the top of her head.

"I knew you were serious but…you really have given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Enough thought to know who _really_ has cold feet this time."

Brooke nodded. She glanced at the clock on the table beside McCoy. By the time they had finished making love it was close to midnight. Although McCoy had wanted to talk, she could see by the way he moved, he was hurting. The only way he would agree to taking a pain pill was if she gave him her word that they would discuss his proposal before his daughter arrived at nine that morning.

The clock read six-forty-seven.

"I told you last night, I'd be honored to be your wife," Brooke said as she traced the line of stitches on his chest. "I just don't think it's a good idea to jump in to a marriage with so many other changes going on. Besides, even if Sam and I finish the settlement on Monday, the divorce won't be final for another six months."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I have a few suggestions that might make your transition to 'divorcee' at little less painful."

Brooke pushed her pillows up against the headboard and sat up facing him.

"What kind of suggestions?"

"Well, let's start with your living arrangements. If we get married, eventually we will probably need to find a place here in the city. That is, if your instructs are right and the party asks me to run next year. It seems counterproductive for you to buy property that you might turn around a sell in – what – a year, maybe two?"

"Agreed. But, if you think I should move in here until –"

McCoy shook his head as he sat up, as well.

"I realize if you do that, it's just a matter of time before the commute wears you down. To be honest, out of all the changes you mentioned last night, I think changing jobs is the one that has you most anxious. I know it woul dbe the hardest change for me to accept."

"So what's the solution?"

"Well, there are two. First, you could let me loan you the money to keep the house-"

"I thought your name was 'McCoy', not 'Chase'," she replied in disbelief.

"You forget, I have interest in a house that was paid off years ago. A house that has tripled in value since Becky's mother and I bought it in the early eighties. There's enough equity that I could loan what you need to buy Sam out and pay off your part of the insurance debt. You could keep the house."

"You're serious," she said with amazement. "Jack, as generous as that is, that house is your legacy to Becky. Yours and her mother's. I love you for offering to help, but I can't accept."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

"Figured as much, but I promised I'd try. That was Plan A. Plan B is the one I think you might like," he said confidently. "Becky's mother is a judge. Most of her weekends are tied up here in Manhattan. She rarely gets out to the beach house. In fact, we've been talking about renting it out for quite some time."

Brooke stared at him, surprised and touched by his generosity.

"You want to be my landlord?"

"Actually, My ex wife has an accountant that would handle things like a lease, rental agreement, etcetera. I know it's small, but you would still be close enough to Islip to keep your job. It would be your place, to decorate as you see fit. Even my ex says the stiriped wall paper in the master bedroom needs to go."

McCoy watched as his lover tried to weigh the pros and cons in her mind.

"What about Becky," she finally said. "You told me the plan was for Becky to inherit the house when you and her mother are gone. I'm sure she looks forward to using the house whenever she's in New York. Won't she feel like this is an intrusion?"

McCoy grinned victoriously.

"Who do you think suggested it? Actually, Becky thinks you should borrow the money and keep your house. She really liked the stain glass work at your place. She thinks it's a shame for you to lose something you put so much of yourself into.But, I told her you'd feel like a kept woman taking that kind of money from me, even as a loan."

Brooke blushed at the accuracy of McCoy's statement. The house and job situation had been nagging at her more than even the divorce and property settlement. Even if she didn't end up following through, just knowing she had a viable fall back plan was enough to make her less anxious.

"This was Becky's idea? Really?"

McCoy nodded.

"I don't know which is more thoughtful: You asking me or the fact your daughter likes me enough to be willing to let me stay in the first house her parents bought together?"

"You scored major points early on with my daughter," McCoy said as he eased her back into his embrace. "It's the little things you do for her Dad, like keeping him from getting shot by a deranged defendant+… as well as the fact you're not working for me or young enough to be her older sister…. "

Brooke laughed as she played with the stray stands that covered part of his right eye.

"So I'm old and willing to kill for you? These are traits your daughter values in a stepmother?"

McCoy's eyes widened and a roguish smile played on his lips.

"If that's what you're willing to be to my daughter. You know, the more I ask the easier it gets. Maybe I've been missing something all these years," he said teasingly. "Should I ask a fourth time?"

"That won't be necessary," Brooke said.

"Before you make it final," he said taking her hand. "I feel obligated to state for the record, I drink more than I should, I've been told more than once I am a real son of a bitch when I think I'm right and I don't get my way, and if you think you might want children…I am willing but chances are good you will end up a widow before a child of ours would be out of high school."

"Jack, that's a chapter I closed long ago," she said somberly. "I miscarried once."

"While you and Sam were together," he asked gently.

"You don't seem surprised."

McCoy rested a hand on her stomach, while he nodded.

"I've seen you with your niece, as well as my daughter. You're a loving woman, Brooke. You were in a solid marriage. It just makes sense… you would be a wonderful mother."

Brooke leaned over and kissed him, her eyes stated to moisten.

"I'd love to have your child, Jack. But I think at this stage in our lives, maybe we should let the chips fall where they may and enjoy what we have."

"You know, I am serious…you are still young enough-," he began.

She looked at him, amazed at how quickly he'd managed to take her surprise, yet again. Brooke took his face in her hands and kissed him full on the lips.

"When you decide to move forward, you move in giant steps, don't you," she asked with amusement.

"I don't want you to have any regrets, Brooke."

"I love you for that. But, Jack you're forgetting, you asked me to be your wife. How could any woman have regret's after accepting an offer like that?"

McCoy tilted his head as he beamed down at her.

"Others have accepted the offer and lived to regret it."

"Jack, there's only one regret I have at this moment," she said as she ran her hands over his chest.

McCoy watched her hands move over him. He leaned over her as he laid her back down and moved closer.

"At that would be," he asked with a half smile on his lips.

"That we didn't ask Becky to take the afternoon train, so I would have more time to practice my wifely duties," she replied as McCoy muffled their laughter with another kiss.

FYI reference to Brooke shooting Samantha Weaver in Prosecutorial Misconduct (just in case you haven't read it yet).


End file.
